


The Fake Dating One Where El's Parents Come to Visit

by charlotteschaos, prettyclever



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Eliot Waugh, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, IDEK how this happened but it worked (I think?), Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Eliot Waugh, Queliot Week 2019, Quentin Coldwater Lives, Quentin Coldwater is bisexual, Quentin Coldwater is sassy, Spanking, Top Quentin Coldwater, basically just 15k of Eliot thirsting after Quentin, followed by sap and smut, protective quentin Coldwater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-15 13:16:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19296508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotteschaos/pseuds/charlotteschaos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyclever/pseuds/prettyclever
Summary: In which Eliot’s horrible parents announce they’re coming to NYC to watch a taping of "Live with Kelly and Ryan" and plan to crash at his modest Brooklyn apartment. They call on their way to the Fort Wayne International Airport. Eliot has the space of a plane ride from Indiana to New York to figure out a plan…All this time he’s told his kin he’s happy and successful, with a live-in boyfriend, raising a family of beautiful culinary herbs together. Most of that is true—except he doesn’t have a boyfriend at all, much less one who lives with him.Once again, Quentin saves the day.A Magicians future fic that disregards the last half of 4x13. Quentin saved the day but escaped alive.Written for Queliot Week 2019's Fake/Pretend Relationship prompt (and posted a little late because life. Also, this bish is long).





	1. Chapter 1

Oh god. Oh _fucking_ god. What was he going to do?

Eliot pulled his hair in both hands and screamed internally before uncorking a bottle of pinot grigio and propping his hip against the kitchen counter. He knew—at least theoretically—that lying to his family back in Indiana had been a colossally bad idea. Ever since Margo and Josh moved in together, Eliot had been on his own in what had been his and Margo’s shared Brooklyn walk-up, and the last time he dated someone was…

Well.

It hurt to think about that. Eliot tried _never_ to think about that. He’d had some random hookups since he healed from the ice axe and the whole Monster possession situation—at least physically—but that was mostly because Quentin was dating Alice, and…

There it was. The stab of anguish that hurt more than the ice axe had going in.

They’d gotten back together. How had they—

They’d always been so _wrong_ for each other, hadn’t they? So intense together they couldn’t stop hurting one another. Nothing like the relative peace Eliot and Quentin had shared for fifty years…

But Eliot had turned Quentin down. He’d fucked up. He’d snuffed out that opportunity with the brutal, self-loathing efficiency he’d exhibited in countless other promising relationships but _so much worse._

He’d barely talked to Quentin in a month. Last he heard, Quentin and Alice were on some kind of sabbatical together, working on their relationship issues, or whatever. Quentin had been cagey about it, and Eliot hadn’t wanted details. It still hurt more than anything he could articulate that Quentin had gotten back together with Alice when Eliot had fought so hard just to let him know he was alive inside the Monster, that he _loved_ him.

But whatever, right? It was whatever. This was life. This was Eliot’s life, and this was how it worked, and…

Stupid. This was colossally dumbass, just the worst, and Eliot never fucking learned, did he? No matter how far he traveled, his family would always be there, somewhere, passively disdaining everything Eliot held dear, with no fucking clue that he could kill them with a thought.

Somehow that just made it scarier.

Eliot still loved his mom, his dad, his older brothers. He still wanted them to love him back. At the very least, he wanted them all sick with envy at how fabulous his life was and how happy he was without them.

How bad would it be to say his nameless boyfriend had volunteered to stay somewhere else for the night so there’d be room for Eliot’s folks? It _was_ Brooklyn. The two bedrooms were…daintily sized, to be generous, and the little living room didn’t even have a sofa bed, just a regular—although _very_ stylish—velvet sofa.

Of course, that didn’t exactly make sense. His parents could take Margo’s old queen-size bed in the second bedroom, which Eliot guessed it was just smart he’d been too sentimental to turn it into a walk-in closet. There was no valid reason for his live-in boyfriend not only to not be here but to have no clothes, no toiletries, no anything lying around.

Sighing, Eliot sent up a prayer to Julia and then picked up his phone.

Their flight would arrive in five hours. They hadn’t checked any bags, so they’d deplane and head immediately to the taxi stand. Barring insanity, they’d be at Eliot’s apartment by dinner time.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Like it wasn’t painful enough to see them, to tolerate their awkward pretense at familial togetherness, when they thought Eliot was thriving. When he showed no weaknesses. When he had no vulnerabilities to exploit.

Dad always said gay men couldn’t find real love, that it was perversion, that Eliot’s life would be lonely, and miserable, and then he’d catch a disease and die alone. That no one would ever really love Eliot. That no one would miss him when he was gone if he didn’t change, if he didn’t try to fit in, if he didn’t listen to his dad and honor his parents’ beliefs and stay true to the family.

Eliot had absolutely nothing in his life right now to prove Dad wrong.

Well, desperate times, right?

“Hey, Siri. Call Q.”

Would Quentin even answer? Eliot had been kind of giving him space since the whole Alice situation was just…ugh. Eliot didn’t want to break them up—well he _did,_ but that was the _old_ Eliot—but he couldn’t think of a way to be supportive of the relationship that wouldn’t ring totally false. Quentin had spent a lifetime with him. Quentin knew better.

“Oh, um, hey, El. What’s up?”

Wow, he answered that pretty quick. It was a nice feeling. At least _someone_ liked him.

“Q, listen… This is… There is no sane way to say this. My parents are on their way to my apartment. I have less than seven hours before they show up on my doorstep in Brooklyn expecting to find me cohabitating with a gorgeous, besotted man who hangs on my every word and has done for some time. I don’t even have _Margo_ anymore. I’m fucked. I don’t even know why I’m calling you. I just—” Eliot cut himself off, hating how true this was, and finished, “When things go wrong, it’s your voice I want to hear.”

After a moment, less smooth than usual, Eliot asked, “How’s Alice?”

There was a long silence on the other end and Eliot could picture Quentin trying to formulate a response to the flood of information. “Oh, um, you just want to hear my voice? Um, Alice is… um. You know, we’re taking some time off to recalibrate. Its… you know….”

He went quiet as if Eliot was supposed to know. Maybe he did know. Basic incompatibility? An unending capacity to make each other miserable? It was ill-advised to get back together in the middle of crisis?

Quentin didn’t seem to be interested in filling in the blanks.

“So…you’re on a break?” Eliot prodded, his heart suddenly hammering. Oh god, a bad, bad idea was forming. A terrible, bad, bad idea that was also just delicious and guilty and… Eliot licked his lips. “Considering our long, storied history… Is it possible you might be willing to um… just platonically share my bed until my family leaves and just…pretend we’re madly in love? Because if _anyone_ knows me well enough to pull it off, it’s you.”

He paused, looking at his open, untouched bottle of pinot grigio, and then glugged straight from the lip. After a beat, which he was sure Quentin used to process the telltale sign of Eliot drinking heavily, he added, “But if that’s—If that’s presumptuous or too much or… You can just tell me to fuck off. I can handle it. I’ll just…”

Eliot sighed. He’d just what? Revisit childhood nightmares of his father fucking berating him for being queer?

“Oh El, I don’t know… Is that a good idea?” Quentin sounded a little breathless. It probably wasn’t a great idea. It really was a ridiculous thing to ask of him. “I mean, I haven’t unpacked from the uh… sabbatical. I guess I could just… bring things over.”

“Yes,” Eliot answered immediately, leaping on the opportunity, that moment of vulnerability. “Q, if you do this, you can play backpack every night until they leave. I won’t even roll my eyes. I promise to bestow upon you all the snuggles you can fucking handle, which you probably need if you’re on a break with Alice, and I missed you anyway, so it’s not like it’s even an effort, and to my parents, it will look like we’re the world’s sappiest, most well-adjusted queer couple, and you _know_ how my parents are.”

Because Eliot had talked through his parent problems ad nauseam during their fifty years together at the mosaic. He’d had so many hangups about raising Ted, so many wine-guzzling freakouts while Arielle carried Quentin’s baby— _their_ baby, to be honest—and Quentin had comforted him and promised Eliot he could do it, that he’d be a great father, and—

That stab of regret stole Eliot’s breath. He should never have told Quentin no. He should never have…

Quentin wasn’t wrong that they’d been good together. And now…

Was it too late? Eliot suppressed that line of thought and drank some more wine, grateful for its fruity, blurry comfort.

Quentin honest-to-god whimpered and then let out a little chuckle. “All right, but I mean, all my clothes are dirty. Guess we can tell them they came on laundry day. It’ll seem very domestic, I guess. Is there even room in your closet?”

“No, but there’s room in _Margo’s_ closet, and she’s not using it anymore, so that’s officially your closet now. Consider yourself my adoring boyfriend who doesn’t even mind that I use literally the entire closet for all my amazing couture and has no space for your cute little hoodies and graphic tees.” Eliot grinned. He could see it now, what it would be like if Quentin really did live with him, if they really were together.

Why had he ever let that opportunity slip away?

“C’mon over. Bring the laundry. I’ll cook you dinner… You can wear my clothes until yours are clean. Really sell the illusion.”

“All right. I’ll be there in… in a few. And you can’t make me eat my vegetables.” Not that Quentin really had a problem doing that, but it was nice that he was agreeing and adding levity. “I’ll pick up some beer. I’m guessing you don’t have anything light or domestic, and I suspect that’s what your dad is going to want. See you in a bit.”

“Okay.” Eliot felt like he could breathe again. “Thanks, Q. I owe you.”

 

Eliot had changed his clothes four times. It was, if he was honest, less in preparation for seeing his parents and more to impress Quentin after their month apart, but Eliot was just going to pretend it was for his parents. That seemed less pitiful anyway.

When Quentin rang the bell, Eliot dashed to answer, feeling confident in his three-piece heathered purple tweed suit and astoundingly gay floral dress shirt. Quentin had always seemed to love when he dressed up, when he was especially dapper, and Eliot intended to serve the full Eliot experience. Opening the door, Eliot’s chest hitched, like maybe his lungs were imploding or his heart was trying to escape, and then he was looking at Quentin after so long, and all he could feel was joy.

Relief.

Quentin was here. Everything would be okay. And if it wasn’t, at least they were in it together.

“Hey.”

“Hey, honey, I’m home.” Quentin grinned, but his hair was all askew as it often was when he was at wit’s end. But still he looked adorably rumpled all in black with a bag in one hand, his messenger bag across him and a 12-pack of domestic light beer that it was a relief that he’d bought. Eliot couldn’t have borne the judgement of his local liquor stores if he bought that himself. “Oh, I didn’t dress up. I just um… Well you look nice.”

“C’mon in,” Eliot murmured, reaching out to take Quentin’s bag and usher him in. He wanted to _touch_ , and it burned through his nerves like cold fire, a horrible craving tingle. This was Quentin, who had once been _his_ Quentin, in another lifetime. Quentin who had never given up on Eliot, who’d been on the front lines with the Monster, risking himself every day to save Eliot.

Eliot couldn’t think about that, though. Feelings were for ugly people. He wasn’t having them.

Quentin had never really spent any time here. After the Seam… Well, the near-death experience had kept Alice and Quentin sort of preoccupied with each other, and Eliot had thrown himself into post-Brakebills life with Margo, and… Everyone hung out at Kady’s palatial place anyway.

Leading the way to the bedroom, Eliot saw his place as if for the first time. The high-end Boho chic thing going on was very Eliot, and very queer, and even if his parents had no idea he was a magician, they’d definitely pick up on some kind of hippie spiritualist/closet Goth vibe with all the candles and crystals he had everywhere. His bedroom was the absolute pinnacle of that aesthetic, with a huge king size bed he’d gotten mostly because he was fucking tall and his feet dangled off the end of anything smaller, but under the current circumstances…

Well, it looked like a decadent fuck den is what it looked like, with its tapestry drapes and eclectic homoerotic art and silk sheets. The little twinkle lights strung up throughout the place weren’t helping. Hurting? But on the whole, it was a lot like he’d taken the Physical Cottage with him when he left Brakebills.

He motioned to Quentin to precede him across the dark hardwood floors with the thick, handwoven rugs, and then flopped back onto the bed playfully, stretching across it as if to demonstrate how comfortable and eminently suitable for snuggles it, in fact, was.

“See, Q? Spacious. You won’t even _have_ to snuggle if you don’t want to. You could lay on the other side reading _The Hobbit_ and pretending I’m miles away. This,” he continued, “will be so easy.”

“I don’t want to pretend you’re miles away, El. You’re my best friend.” Quentin looked around the room, blushing a little at the art, but then he lifted up the beer. “I’m going to run this to the fridge quick. The only thing worse than drinking it cold is drinking it warm.”

It seemed like Quentin couldn’t get away from the bed fast enough, or maybe that was just in Eliot’s head. He was, after all, carrying beer and maybe it was a little strange to usher him straight to a giant bed.

Eliot sighed. He was getting ahead of himself. Probably the wine making his decisions.

Definitely the wine making his decisions.

He took a moment to recenter, refocus, rebalance, and then headed off after Quentin. He couldn’t keep fucking up like this. Quentin had said Eliot was his _best friend_ , and that was worth protecting. Preserving.

Jesus, Eliot was so bad at that. He was amazed Quentin hadn’t already quit on him. Why did he try so hard? Eliot didn’t deserve it, but he needed it.

Fighting down the overpowering sense that Quentin was _everything_ , Eliot put on his game face and strolled into the kitchen to find Quentin putting domestic light beer in a refrigerator otherwise filled with artisanal cheeses, chutneys, and olives. Eliot’s selection of white wines was in an actual wine chiller under the counter. Margo had bought it for him for Christmas because she was a goddess.

He didn’t deserve her either.

“So, Q, I guess… I should thank you again and just…warn you that my parents are virulent homophobes, and this is going to be really unpleasant. I don’t know _why_ they think they can stay with me. I cut them out of my life a long time ago. But I also can’t…” Eliot hated feeling helpless, speechless, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Yeah, I know.” Quentin smiled up at him from the fridge briefly and then looked back in before grabbing containers of olives and cheese and setting them on the counter, letting the fridge close itself. “You told me how they are. Brought a book of battle magic, just in case.”

That appeared to be at least somewhat joking before he turned, fingers up pointing. “Crackers?”

Quentin’s brow furrowed and then he smirked. “For the cheese, not accusing anyone of anything.”

Eliot snorted and reached into the cabinet to pull down several varieties of gourmet crackers. “Oh, Q, I missed you.”

He set the boxes down beside Quentin’s haul and then slipped his arm around Quentin’s shoulders because the need to hold him was so overwhelming. “Hungry? We still have a few hours before my parents show up. We could eat, relax, maybe do your laundry…”

Then Eliot asked, “Oh did you want to change into something of mine? Just to get in clean clothes? I have a cute little spangled crop top that would look _amazing_ on you…”

“You did promise me dinner.” Quentin rolled his eyes. “Not satisfied with me putting my life on the line to save you from a monster even the old gods were afraid of, now you want me to wear a crop top for your homophobic parents? I really wasn’t planning on camping it up. Is that what you really want?”

“No, I suppose not.” Eliot sighed tragically and hugged Quentin sideways before swatting his ass lightly and stepping away. “But it wouldn’t really _be_ a crop top on you if it’s a crop top on _me_ …” Catching Quentin’s look, Eliot held up both hands to indicate he was dropping it. “Okay, I’ll find you something totally appropriate to wear and use a tailoring charm to make it fit you perfectly. You’ll look so handsome my parents will be forced to acknowledge I am punching way above my weight class.”

“Don’t go too crazy. If they see the rest of my clothes are just t-shirts and hoodies, they’ll think something’s up. But I guess it would make sense I’d dress up to meet the parents.” Q’s cheeks pinkened, which was the only acknowledgement he gave to the compliment. He went through the drawers finding the flatware and then went looking, presumably, for a cheese plate. It seemed so natural to have him just going through things, and Eliot figured Quentin was trying to familiarize himself with the kitchen so he wouldn’t seem out of place.

Under his breath, Quentin muttered, “ _Wouldn’t really be a crop top on you._ ” He huffed and looked like he was trying not to laugh.

The impulse to kiss him almost overpowered Eliot, and he turned abruptly and went to his closet instead of giving in. God fucking damn it. He’d promised this would be easy, but this was turning out to be anything but.

Although, getting to dress Quentin made it all worth it.

Eliot selected an embroidered black-on-black linen button-up, a charcoal silk vest, and a pair of corduroy skinny jeans that would emphasize Quentin’s V-shaped build and make him look extra lanky. Power clothes, but Quentin style. Monochrome, nothing flashy. And so, so tactile.

It was a good idea, but also a terrible idea. Keeping his hands off Q was going to be nearly impossible. Of course, he kind of _wanted_ to have his hands all over Quentin, at least in front of his parents. They were coming onto his territory. They had to know they were tempting fate. No way was he going to be chaste and demure for their sake.

Gathering clean (sexy) underthings, black leather belt, and monk strap shoes, Eliot spread them out on the bed and then went looking for Quentin. “Honeybutt? I’ve got your things laid out for you. You can take a shower if you want…” It was on the tip of Eliot’s tongue to say he’d keep Quentin company, but that seemed like much. Right?

“Yeah, I probably should.” In the time that Eliot had taken laboring over choosing couture, Quentin had apparently been stuffing himself with cheese and crackers. Crumbs were on his chest, and he was licking away whatever else around his mouth. He held a glass of white wine, probably from the bottle that had already been opened. The one Eliot had been drinking straight out of earlier.

He inspected the clothes, touching them reverently.

Oh how Eliot remembered those fingers on him, in him.

After the initial rush of emotions that Quentin had responded to and Eliot had been frightened by, memories of that life came back to Eliot in dreams, as if to torture him with what he’d shut down. It had been even more intense than he’d let himself think. Now, with Quentin so close, his body seemed to remember him.

With such a big bed dominating the room, Quentin had to squeeze by Eliot to get to the bathroom. “Anything I need to know about the shower? Run hot? Cold?”

“Good pressure. Runs a little cold.” Eliot motioned to Quentin to go ahead and try it, which involved Eliot looming in the doorway trying to convince himself to step away and leave Quentin to it. Which he did not want to do. At all.

Looking for a reason to stay, Eliot stepped into the little bathroom with Quentin and flipped on the mood lighting and then demonstrated for Quentin the waterproof Bluetooth speaker in the shower. “Just pair it to your phone and you can sing along with ‘80s ballads. Or, you know, listen to the _Game of Thrones_ audiobook. Whatever.”

He turned to face Q and then reached up to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear just for an excuse to touch. “So um. Just relax. Enjoy yourself.”

Did that make it sound like he was instructing Quentin to jerk off in the shower?

“I wasn’t going to be that long. Certainly not _Game of Thrones_ audiobook long.” Quentin didn’t pull away, just looked up at him as if he was trying to figure out what he meant. His brow furrowed. “Did Margo finally get you to read them?”

“Well, I mean…” Eliot narrowed his gaze. “I listened to them? Kind of. Parts of them. While soaking up the hot water, drinking wine, and being an absolute tragedy queen.” That was as close as Eliot was going to come to admitting he’d been depressed when Margo moved out and Quentin was off with Alice and he felt completely lost.

He smiled then and pushed Quentin’s shoulder a little. “Feel free to do the same. I’ll just bring my parents in here to meet you.”

“I could put on the suit and just soak in the tub, and you can tell them it’s just this big fancy New York thing. I’ll tell them I take all my meetings in the tub. They might be a lot less worried about you being gay and more concerned you’re dating a merman.” Quentin rolled up to his toes and pressed a quick peck to Eliot’s lips. “I should probably just shower. Best not to make it weird.”

Eliot just nodded, caught off guard by that tiny kiss. As fleeting as it was, it brought with it a wealth of memories that crashed over him in waves, and Eliot cleared his throat and stepped away, giving Quentin room. “Okay, merman. Get wet.”

“Yeah.” Quentin blushed brightly, then avoiding eye contact, he headed into the bathroom with the clothes all in a bundle. He shut the door and started the shower.

While Quentin got clean, Eliot started the unpack Quentin’s bag, finding Quentin’s usual suspects as far as clothing went. There was a bag of toiletries that Eliot left on the bed, but the rest of it had to be washed.

There weren’t really any clues as to where he’d been with Alice. No tell-tale sand from a beach or twigs from a forest. They’d probably just gone to some normal, boring spa place with counseling services, or so his clothes would suggest. There wasn’t anything in the bag that would’ve been for a nice night out.

Everything could be machine-washed, because that was how Quentin rolled. It was kind of nice. Little that Eliot wore could be machine washed, so it was tough making a load sometimes. With this wealth of new clothes, Eliot popped a few things in and, after hearing the shower shut off, started the washer.

Eliot started prepping for dinner, adding some cheeses to Quentin’s cheese plate and olives with a nice tapenade that would go with the flavors. He selected a dry, fruity white but let it remain in the chiller for now.

Quentin came out with Eliot’s clothes dragging off him. He looked like a child who’d put on daddy’s duds. It was pretty adorable. He also looked as if he felt better. His hair was clean and pulled back into a tight ponytail.

“Need some fitting help. Sorry about um, earlier.”

“Sorry?” Eliot frowned. Why would Quentin be sorry? “You’ve been an absolute delight thus far, so really, no need to apologize. You’re doing me an enormous favor.”

He approached Quentin methodically, walking around him and taking in the way the fabric draped versus the way it needed to cling and then, with a few well-practiced tuts, made Quentin’s clothes hug his body deliciously. “Ah, there. _So_ much better.”

Damn. It was one thing to know—to _remember_ —Quentin’s lovely body and another thing to see it displayed like that in Eliot’s clothes, presented so gorgeously. Eliot’s fingers ached to touch. He curled them into loose fists and stuffed them in his pockets to suppress the urge.

“Oh, just the kiss. I thought it would be a good idea to… I don’t know.” Quentin bent his arms, checking the length and moving around a little. “You don’t think the pants are too tight?”

Eliot pressed his lips together for a moment, feeling a pang that Quentin seemed to regret the kiss, and then swooped in to swiftly, gently brush their mouths together in another chaste kiss. That seemed the best way to declare unequivocally that Eliot was open to kissing. He kissed Margo all the time, to Josh’s occasional amusement. It was just a thing. Eliot was affectionate.

“Pants are definitely _not_ too tight, and there is, in fact, _no such thing_.” Eliot bounced back and flexed his hands in his pockets. “Your ass is spectacular, Quentin. You know I’ve always thought so. I intend to dazzle my parents with your callipygian panache.” He smiled a little, mischievous and wicked. “Sorry not sorry.”

Then he gestured toward the cheese plate and smiled. “I curated some additions to your cheese plate. You have to try the blueberry stilton. It’s divine with the crunch of the honey crackers. I’ll make some proper dinner closer to when my parents arrive, but until then… Well, we’ll just nibble.”

Quentin’s face was red, and he avoided catching Eliot’s gaze. He made his way to the cheese plate, seeming more than happy to help himself. “So do you want to be just regular boyfriends or are we trying to provoke them a little? How long have we been together? Did you tell them a particular story about meeting, or is this all stuff they haven’t asked about? Just to have our stories straight.”

He piled stilton on the cracker and took a bite, closing his eyes as he chewed. “Mm yes, this is really good. You always have the best snacks.”

“They’ve never asked, to answer your question. They don’t want to know. Or, well, didn’t. I guess they don’t have much choice now.” Eliot grinned and slipped his arm around Quentin’s waist, standing close beside him and leaning over to rest his chin on Quentin’s head. “We should be just…so obnoxiously in love. Just terrible. PDA, the works. All I know is… My dad thinks I’ll never find true love. That it’s impossible for queer men to be happy together. And I want to make him think twice.”

After a moment, feeling the gravity pull in his gut, Eliot said quieter, “There’s no one better to prove the point than you, Q. We really did have a happy life together. I don’t remember every moment of it, but I know it was more good than bad.”

Quentin stiffened and then exhaled slowly. “Yeah. We did. But it’s not the kind of life everyone wants. It’s not the only way to be happy. You shouldn’t have to prove anything to them, especially demonstrating a life you don’t even want.”

Ouch. Eliot closed his eyes and considered how much he deserved that. If Margo were here, she’d be pushing him to tell Quentin how much he regretted his fuck up, but Margo wasn’t here, and Eliot didn’t have the words.

Instead, he made a soft sound of indecision and hugged Quentin sidelong. “It’s not the only way to be happy, no, and it’s not the way I expected to ever be happy, but I was, nonetheless.”

Then he released Quentin, not wanting to… What? Be so vulnerable? To open this can of worms when his parents were on their way. It was too much.

Besides, Quentin hadn’t really broken up with Alice. They were… what? On a break? Eliot didn’t have the right to make things worse between them, to complicate things, to…

Struggling to tamp down his emotions and wear a pleasant smile, Eliot reached for the wine and imbibed gratefully.

“So anyway, we met in my second year of post-grad, started dating in my third year, and we’ve been inseparable since. We’re raising a beautiful family of culinary herbs—” Eliot gestured around the kitchen to his various LED-lit AeroGardens, which Josh had generously tampered with for maximum growth and production. They were all enchanted to be virtually unkillable now, and they filled the kitchen with good, bright, green, herby smells of rosemary and basil and thyme. Plus so much mint. Fresh muddled mint for mojitos was an absolute prerequisite for living a civilized life.

Then he pulled his thoughts together and looked to Quentin searchingly. “We moved in together when we finished school, and now we spend most nights together when neither of us is traveling for work. I’m fabulously successful of course, although they don’t know anything about my job except that it pays well, and you’re doing well too. We’re an ideal couple. That’s all they need to know.”

“Doesn’t need to be heteronormative to be ideal.” Quentin met Eliot’s gaze briefly then he looked away to the herbs. “Fogg’s offered me a position teaching. We can tell them I’m a professor, I guess. I assume they don’t know anything about magic or Brakebills then?”

“Of course not. My dad doesn’t need _more_ reasons to think I’m devilspawn. Besides, it would blow apart their cozy worldview, and they’d make a big fuss, and Fogg would have to get involved, and… Oh. It would be a mess, Q.” Eliot reached out to touch Q’s hand gently, tracing a fingertip across Quentin’s knuckles. “We’ll tell them you’re a professor at a small but elite private college.”

Then Eliot thought back over his life with Quentin, with its, indeed, heteronormative trappings. A wife in the mix, a biological child, Eliot doing the cooking, Quentin building the furniture… It had been good. It wasn’t _quite_ what Eliot wanted now, in this world, in this life, but he couldn’t deny he’d been happy there.

After a moment, Eliot pulled it together and looked at Quentin. “What are you going to teach, Professor Coldwater?” Ooh, that was sexy. Eliot mulled that over, enjoying the pleasant shiver it gave him. Then he grinned. “Professor Coldwater. Wow, they are going to climb you like a very attractive tree. Don’t pull a Mayakovsky, okay? Your good pal Eliot is here if you ever need to be reminded of reasons _not_ to have a torrid affair with a student.”

“You’d really advise me _against_ it? Doesn’t sound on brand for Eliot Waugh.” Quentin snorted. “Entropy reversal. Year one to start. We can tell your parents literature. That was my major in undergrad. Probably what I was heading to in non-magic life. That or barista. Kind of a coin toss in this economy.”

He gestured at the bottle of wine. “Almost empty, should we open another? I could use a little more pregaming. Unless you want to move on to cocktails. That mint is really making me crave a mojito.”

“Are you indicating your desire for an Eliot Waugh signature mojito? Because I will absolutely handcraft—with love—a signature mojito just for you.” Eliot beamed and leaned over to kiss Quentin’s cheek happily, forgetting for a few blessed moments about his parents’ imminent arrival.

He rifled the bar cart for the necessary Collins glasses and white rum, then produced homemade simple syrup and cold club soda from the fridge. Fresh limes were in a bowl on the counter, and the mint yielded its leaves readily. Eliot washed his hands and his ingredients and then set to work juicing the fruit and muddling the mint, whose scent bloomed unmistakably into the air, heady and clean and sharp blended with the lime. Eliot’s hands were deft, his movements practiced, and as he worked, he grinned over at Q, finding him as interested as ever in Eliot’s bartending.

He covered the fragrant mixture with a generous pour of rum and syrup and topped it off with club soda. Then he garnished it with a fresh mint sprig, dropped a gilt straw into it, and stirred gently before pushing it down the counter toward Quentin. “The secret ingredient is magic.”

Not that Eliot used magic in making the cocktail itself, but magic went into making the simple syrup, and magic went into making the rum, and the mint was enchanted. Even the club soda had been spruced up a bit to be extra carbonated and refreshing, its temperature hovering just above freezing to eliminate the need for ice that could water down the drink. It was, in Eliot’s opinion, the perfect mojito.

“Thank you. You have spoiled me for other cocktails, I admit.” Quentin took it and had a sip, exhaling happily. “Can’t get this at a bar.”

Taking another sip, Quentin looked over the glass to Eliot, a strange mixture of love and hurt in his gaze. “I’ve missed you. And everyone. What have you been up to? Find an actual job or just enjoying your High King retirement?”

Quentin picked up the cheese plate and headed to the living room with his cocktail. Eliot trailed Quentin with the remainder of the wine in his hand, trying to process that look Quentin had given him.

“My High King retirement wouldn’t afford me a two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn and posh cheese, sadly. I’m a stylist at Barneys. I make fantastic tips telling wealthy people what to wear and I get paid commission at volume on moving excessively expensive attire and accessories. Somehow, magically, when I tell them to try something on, it always fits perfectly.” Eliot laughed a little and shrugged. “I should probably go into some kind of actual magical field eventually, but right now I’m just enjoying the simple life. I didn’t…”

Eliot trailed off and sipped the wine, uncertain how to articulate that he’d been aimless without Margo and Quentin to direct his energies. He knew he was capable of more, but this was the least challenging, most enjoyable career he’d stumbled into yet. It beat bartending, anyway, which he’d also done for a little while before realizing the hours made it impossible for him to see his friends. Priorities.

“Oh, that’s a good job for you. There aren’t a whole lot of magic-involved jobs. Fogg’s got connections if you ever decide you want to stare at a computer.” Quentin set down the cheese plate on the coffee table and made himself comfortable on the velvet couch. “Not sure why he decided to give me a job as a professor. Think he just wants to keep an eye on me, if I’m being honest. He’s always got a lot of questions about the mirror world and how I escaped. I don’t have any great answers on that. Just ran like hell.”

Eliot nodded, not liking to think about Quentin’s close call. He sipped more wine and then tilted his head to the side, eyeing Quentin. “You really think that’s a good job for me? It’s not…embarrassing?”

Not that it would be embarrassing if he weren’t a magician. A high-end stylist was a dream job for most fashion adept young queer men, but Eliot knew he wasn’t pushing himself.

Where did he get the idea he needed to push himself anyway?

Sinking onto the couch beside Quentin, Eliot dropped his arm around Quentin’s shoulders and sighed. “I think you’ll be a fantastic professor, Q. You love school—and magic—like no one else I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t think a job at Barney’s is embarrassing at all. You get to meet lots of interesting people, I’m sure. Probably…” Quentin gazed into the distance as he snuggled against Eliot. “I guess with your experience as king you could probably be CEO if you wanted, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of job that would make you happy. That’s more of a Margo thing. Anyway, I’m not the person to ask for career advice considering I don’t _really_ have one. We’ll see how I like being a professor. I’d rather be an Avenger. I feel like saving the world a couple of times should qualify me, but that’s sadly not an actual job.”

“Ohh. You’ve got such a hero complex. I can see it now… Q in spandex, rescuing the non-magical populace and then ducking out of the spotlight to change back into his hoodie and jeans.” Eliot laughed and tightened his grip on Quentin’s shoulders, drinking the wine and content to cuddle on the couch like old times. It made him feel inexplicably good for Quentin to validate his career.

After a moment, he teased, “You’d be a really sexy superhero, but you’ll be a sexy professor too. I think it’s really a win/win. For me, anyway. I’ll still be able to brag about my Quentin who’s off shaping young minds, reversing entropy at a first-year level.”

“Hero complex. You sound like Alice.” Quentin rolled his eyes and took another drink of his Mojito. “But, I mean, a lot goes on at Brakebills. If ever a place needed a minor mender on staff, it’s there. Maybe I can keep some first years from accidentally offing themselves, and that’s something, right? As far as dangerous professions go, Brakebills professor is up there. Not as high as being a student.”

Eliot laughed again and tugged at Q’s ponytail with his free hand as he sipped his wine. “You can handle a little danger, Coldwater. You’re the first one I call in a crisis, aren’t you?”

Which was really saying something, considering his best friend was Margo Hanson, the most aggressively competent person in any dimension.

“This was a pretty specific crisis. And a surprising one. Hard to believe you’d let your parents in your home, but I guess the balance of power is really in your favor now. Just surprised you’d want them to think you were so domestic.” Quentin leaned forward to put his mojito down and then turned back to face Eliot.

“You don’t think I’m…domestic? I’m very domestic!” Eliot gestured at his perfectly decorated living area and the cheese plate. “I have long been an impeccable host, and if I had a boyfriend, I would cook him dinner and fuss over his clothes and make him signature cocktails. How is any of that out of character?”

He felt oddly offended that Quentin didn’t think Eliot was capable of that. Did Quentin really think _that_ was what Eliot had objected to resuming? What did he think? That Eliot was just out here fucking everything that moved?

Well, he kind of was, at one point, but…

Frustrated, Eliot put down the wine, almost-empty bottle clanking on the coffee table. He turned meet Quentin’s stare dead-on. “I’m not _just_ a party boy, Q. I… I’ve grown up, all right? I’m…different than I was. Haven’t I been through enough to change a little?”

“Sure. It’s just that… you _haven’t_? Like, you are perfectly capable of having a boyfriend, probably just about any man you chose, but you haven’t done that. So it leads me to think that’s not what you’re looking for other than when your parents are visiting.” Quentin watched him almost impassively. It was hard to get a read on whether he was angry or defensive or feeling much of anything. “Sorry. That’s just my impression. I don’t think it’s _bad_ , El. If you’re on the market and just haven’t found the right person, that’s fair, too. I just wondered why you’d want to give your parents the impression that you’re something you’re not when you’re so fabulous and perfect as you are.”

Eliot laughed helplessly, gesturing with one futile hand. “If I were perfect as I am, maybe I’d… But this is…” He licked his lips and averted his gaze, overwhelmed by Quentin’s eyes on him. “I’ve been a mess for a while, Q. Ever since…”

How could he come out and say it?

 _Ever since I woke up and found out you chose Alice_.

He waved it off and sighed, reaching again for the wine. He drained it and stood. “I’m going to get some more wine.”

Eliot escaped into the kitchen, fighting down an uncharacteristic surge of anxiety. It wasn’t Quentin’s fault he’d chosen Alice. She was his first love, and that… Well. Eliot had heard that left a mark. And Quentin wasn’t gay, so… What did Eliot really expect?

He tried to ground himself, doing some deep breathing, his favorite meditation, and then retrieved another bottle of wine. Uncorking it gave him a sense of rightness again, as good as the meditation, and then he poured an actual glass before returning to the living area.

Gazing at Quentin, he asked as gently as he could, “Can we keep things light, Q? I really need to get my head in the right place before my dad turns up and reads me for filth about every tiny way in which I don’t live up to my older brothers and my mom just lets him because I will never be as important to her as he is.”

“Yeah. Um.  Okay. I’m, um. I’m sorry. Of course. I just, you know, I love you. I think you’re great and I’ve missed you and I’m really glad to see you.” Quentin waved his hands in the air as if that could clear everything else out. He stood up and gave Eliot a big hug, resting his head against Eliot’s chest. “Your dad is totally going to wear a Trump hat to the door, isn’t he?”

“Probably,” Eliot answered, wrapping his arms gratefully around Quentin’s smaller form, one hand carefully cradling his wine glass as the other cradled the back of Q’s head. “And red really isn’t his color.”

He sighed and then breathed deep of Q’s good, familiar scent. He didn’t even try to hide that he was doing it, nosing into Q’s hair and neck and snuffling. Almost an afterthought, he whispered, “Love you too, Q. Missed you heaps.”

Quentin let out a little moan and readjusted his arms tighter around Eliot’s middle. That was one nice thing about Q; he’d let Eliot hug him for as long as he wanted. “What are you making for dinner? Do you need any help?”

The washing machine chimed, and Quentin released Eliot. “Ah, I can work on wrangling my clothes and moving in.”

“Yes. You definitely can. Do that.” Eliot tried to pull himself back together, but he felt like his insides were falling out—just a little—without Quentin’s arms around him holding them in. Wouldn’t do to act needy, though, so he smiled and shooed Quentin. “Feel free to leave some scandalous underwear lying on my bedroom floor.”

He paused to consider and added, “Or the living room floor.”

Another pause and a smirk. “Or in the refrigerator.”

Then he sipped his wine, winked at Q, and headed back into the kitchen to figure out what he _was_ going to make for dinner.

“I love that you think I have scandalous underwear to leave anywhere. Honestly, I think if I left my underwear anywhere, your parents would just feel kind of sorry for you.” Quentin laughed and headed for the utility room.

Eliot chuckled as he watched Q go and then began rifling the cabinets. What could he make to really annoy his parents? Something vegetarian, obviously, to really chap Dad’s ass. Something foreign, definitely.

He spotted a container of bulgur and grinned.

Tabbouleh with feta, fresh mint, and chickpeas? Perfect.

Well, not perfect. It would probably invite a rant about Muslims that Eliot could truly live without and would feel duty-bound to refute, but hey, that was a sport at which Eliot actually excelled. Maybe it would never impress Dad (or Mom), but Eliot could feel like a smug liberal elite, and he suspected that was really all his parents expected of him.

But, he thought as he boiled the water magically, a smug liberal elite with a smokeshow boyfriend and a seriously nice apartment.

 _Pretend_ smokeshow boyfriend. But a real apartment, so there was that.

By the time the tabbouleh was in the refrigerator to chill, Eliot felt accomplished. There was something remarkably right about Quentin doing his laundry, putting away his clothes. Something right about knowing they’d share a bed tonight, that they’d… Snuggle up later, and Eliot could relax in Q’s arms and let go of the stress of his family’s presence.

He joined Q in what had been Margo’s room as Q hung his things in the closet. Sprawling across the bed on his stomach, wine glass clutched in one hand, Eliot kicked his feet in the air playfully and cooed, “Oo careful with that denim. That must’ve come from Tar-zhay. I bet you spent upwards of twelve dollars on those jeans.”

“Tell me you didn’t invite me over to make fun of my clothes, El.” Quentin looked over his shoulder, smirking as he shook his head. “I’d ask for your advice, but I can’t afford to shop at Barney’s. Oh, but you know, if you ever decided you did want to do more magic tailoring work, Dean Fogg specially orders his suits. Probably not as glamorous as Barney’s. Maybe. I don’t know. What I do know is that these were _twenty_ dollars, El. Shows what you know.”

Quentin stopped hanging his clothes to flip up the back of his jacket and wiggled his ass at Eliot, then returned to his work.

Giggling like the slightly drunk queer that he was, Eliot telekinetically smacked Quentin’s ass with a pillow and then drained his wine glass. “When you’re Dean Fogg’s favorite professor, I’ll make a point of coming up to Brakebills to measure his inseam just for you, Q.”

“He’s an attractive man.” It was a little funny that Q spoke so much about Dean Fogg and so little about, well, _anyone else._ But then, Fogg did seem to dote on Quentin, and in the absence of other safe topics, it was probably just Quentin trying to keep things light. So why was Eliot jealous?

Finished with his clothes, Quentin turned and joined Eliot on Margo’s bed, crawling on and then flopping onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “All right. All set. Team Coldwater-Waugh, bitches!” He held up his hand for a high five.

Eliot rolled his eyes and high fived Quentin, since that was apparently what he wanted, and it would be rude to leave him hanging when he was doing Eliot such a solid. He rolled onto his side to gaze at Q, and for a moment he wanted to suggest they desecrate the bed Eliot’s parents were going to sleep in, but then he remembered they weren’t like that anymore. That they’d never be like that again. That Q just wasn’t the kind of guy who could do that without getting twisted up inside about it.

And, if Eliot were honest, he’d be twisted up inside about it too.

“I am…way too drunk for this,” Eliot murmured after a moment, sitting and scooting to the edge of the bed. He felt a little better with his feet planted on the floor.

Quentin sat up with Eliot and drew on his back gently. “It’ll be all right, El. We’ve got this. You need me to get you some water? Some cheese?”

Laughing Eliot shook his head and leaned into Quentin’s side, resting his head against Quentin’s. “Just keep me company, Q. The longer the shadows get, the more I twist up inside. I just—”

He took a deep breath. “I’ve been pretending to be grown up for a very, very long time. Now that I’ve actually died of old age, I’m pretty sure I’m never going to actually be an adult. I think this is as good as it gets.”

Standing, he turned to Quentin and held out his free hand. “C’mon. Let’s go Netflix and chill until my parents arrive. I require Quentin cuddles and possibly a butt squeeze.”

“Oh good. I was going to give you a butt squeeze earlier, but I wasn’t sure where we were on those these days.”

Jesus. That made them sound like exes. Which, maybe they were.

On the way to the living room, Quentin squeezed Eliot’s ass, and it felt pretty good.


	2. In Which El's Dad Is a Real Poophead but Our Boys Prevail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which El's parents arrive, they attempt to have a nice dinner together, and everything goes completely sideways. Also, Q is a sassmaster, El pines some more, and this whole fake dating thing starts falling apart. Now with bonus added sap. So much sap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for homophobic parents being homophobic. El and Q handle it as well as anyone can, though. (It's pretty much drawn entirely from prettyclever's own family experiences, so we understand if it's a tender spot.) Take care of yourselves.

When Eliot’s doorbell finally rang, he took a deep breath and picked up his phone to see who it was. Dad’s face peered at him from the doorbell camera. Mom hung back a little, gawking around. He showed the screen to Quentin and then pressed the talk button as if the door was a million miles away instead of across the room. “Hiii.”  

Dad startled as Eliot’s voice came from the doorbell speaker and glared around suspiciously. “Eliot, that you, son?” 

“Yes. Hi, Dad. Hi, Mom. Welcome to Williamsburg.”  

“Are you gonna let us in? We’re gonna get robbed standing out here.” Dad sounded testy, which made sense. He didn’t handle being outside his element terribly well. Or at all.  

Eliot exchanged a look with Quentin and headed to the door, dragging his feet dramatically for Quentin’s benefit. Then he straightened his posture, did a quick charm to neaten his clothes and hair, and opened the door. “Madre, padre, bienvenido a mi casa.”  

Bowing slightly, Eliot swept his arm inward and beckoned. As they stepped inside, their gazes fell on Quentin, who looked a little disheveled from all the cuddling and butt squeezing. Adorable.  

“Aaron, Claudia, this is my boyfriend, Quentin Coldwater. He’s a lit professor at a small, prestigious private university. Quentin, this is Aaron and Claudia Waugh, my parents.” Eliot put on some fake cheer as he added, “They’re farmers.” 

Dad cleared his throat convulsively, like he was having some kind of fit, but Mom stepped forward, soft-spoken, and held out her hand to shake Quentin’s.  

“Quentin. You can call me Claudia.” She gestured toward Dad and added, “Aaron and I weren’t sure you existed.” 

Dad muttered something under his breath, a few choice pejoratives, and then grunted acknowledgement as he wrestled their luggage into the living room.  

Quentin stood and took her hand, giving it a firm shake. “A pleasure to meet you, Claudia. And Aaron. Indeed, I exist. I had to fight my way to the front of the line of Eliot’s admirers. I was lucky he was ready to settle down with a stuffy professor.” 

He finished with Mom and moved to Dad, to whom he offered his hand only to receive a piece of luggage instead. “I’ll take you to your room. My clothes are in the closet. Eliot’s very generous but not with closet space.” 

“Ah, yes, my personal flaws persist despite my advancing age,” Eliot replied drily.  

He watched as Q led Dad down the hallway and then turned to look at his mother, who was eyeing him as if she couldn’t believe they were in the same room. Honestly, it was a mood.  

“A professor,” she said after a moment, breaking the silence. “You never cared about books.” 

It didn’t sound especially judgmental, but Eliot couldn’t help feeling a bit defensive. “I was bullied when I tried to read. I guess the habit didn’t take.” 

“Don’t be like that, Eliot,” she chided, approaching like she might touch him, and he physically recoiled, instinctive. Her expression turned hurt, and he felt a pang of guilt at putting that look on her once-beloved face.  

Before he could say anything, she turned and called, “Aaron, let me see to the unpacking,” and bustled into the guest room. 

She just fucked off and left him standing there, deprived of his wits and a snappy retort. He knew he was clever, when he wasn’t with his parents. He knew he was funny and sharp and sassy. But with them he was a child again, a little boy trying desperately to crack the code of hypermasculine behavior that would persuade his family to accept him. 

Well  _fuck_  that. 

“Q,” he called, mischief pricking his skin. “Will you check that there’s enough lube in the nightstand? I can’t remember if we used it all last time we were in there.” Then, softer, with a pretense of hospitality, “You can’t really take a sizeable lube on flights these days, and at your ages…” 

“Um… no… no lube in here. I really only brought the beer…?” He could  _hear_  how uncomfortable Quentin was and felt a little guilt for putting him in such an awkward position.  

Quentin poked his head into the hall, his face bright red. “They seem to think they don’t need it, so… maybe we never talk about that again in front of your p-a-r-e-n-t-s?” 

Eliot walked down the hallway toward them and slipped an arm around Quentin, tugging Q in front of him like a shield and tucking his head on top of Q’s, resting his chin on his crown in his absolute favorite way. “Sorry, parental figures, I was just trying to be a good host. I don’t usually have people over who aren’t planning to drink heavily and lubricate internally.”  

Mom stared at him, aghast and offended, and Eliot’s internal glee warred with that little voice that told him he was a horrible son. Dad, on the other hand, started toward him, expression hard in that way that preceded a beating. Eliot tugged Quentin, trying to put him behind him, and lifted his chin in defiance. 

Quentin refused to move, planting himself in place, and Eliot had to remind himself that it was Quentin who had protected his body from the Monster. For good or bad, Quentin wasn’t about to run from an elderly farmer.  

He held out his hand to stop Dad, and while he was easily the smallest person in the room, he must’ve projected some kind of authority because Dad did stop. “Why don’t we have a drink or five? I don’t think I heard why it was you were in town.” 

“Ah, good idea, Q. Dad, Quentin got a bunch of domestic light beer which should be right up your alley. Mom, do you want some pinot grigio?” Eliot tugged on Quentin as he backed out of the room, dragging Quentin with him. “I made dinner, by the way. It’s ready now, if you’re hungry.”  

It wasn’t a multi-course meal up to Eliot’s preferred dinner party standards, but this was  _not_  a dinner party, and they had  _not_  given advance notice, and honestly. 

Mom made a weird little tutting sound and nodded. “Ah, that’ll be nice, won’t it, Aaron? Some beer and some food?” 

Dad kept staring at them, but he nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Yeah, I’m hungry. Making me short-tempered.” 

It was as close to an apology as they were likely to get, and far closer than Eliot had imagined they’d receive. It was Quentin’s own special magic again, his personal gravity, that intensity that he somehow packed so much of in such a compact frame.  

“Then we’ll talk over dinner.” Eliot pressed a quick, grateful kiss to Quentin’s temple and headed for the kitchen. 

Behind him, Quentin said, “You guys settle in. I’m going to help him with the table, we’ll get your beer and wine set up there.” 

Eliot heard Quentin’s footsteps on the slightly creaky hardwood floor, and then he was in the kitchen with him. Quentin hugged him from behind. “You all right? Need me to run to the bodega, see if they have extra lube? It’s probably expired and a hundred dollars, but you’re worth it.” 

Chuckling, Eliot said, “I’ve got about three different tubes in the bathroom and more in my nightstand, for those nights I’m too drunk to cast but not too drunk to bone. I just wanted to needle them.” 

He turned his head to kiss Quentin, smiling as he ducked to brush their lips together. His parents weren’t watching, but Q had definitely earned a kiss. Major boyfriend points, however fake. 

Quietly, he added, “No one’s ever stood up to my dad for me before.”  

Then he kissed Quentin again and reached into the fridge to produce the tabbouleh. It looked perfect, which was to say, it looked like tabbouleh and also very green and lush and not at all the kind of meal Aaron and Claudia would ever eat. Quentin, on the other hand… He presented it to Q with a flourish. 

“Oh, that looks really good. Not like something your parents are likely to love, but I’ll enjoy it. Now I’m trying to decide whether I should try to win street cred by drinking terrible beer with your dad or if I should suffer that pinot grigio or if you’ve got something better hidden for your boyfriend and personal hero.” Quentin caressed the side of Eliot’s face, grinning and flirty and sweet. “I’ll throw down. I’m tougher than I look. I think I can take him.” 

A wry little chuckle escaped from Eliot, and he leaned in to kiss Quentin again just because he could, throwing caution, et al., to the wind. Then he headed to the table and placed the beautiful serving dish full of fluffy tabbouleh between the Josh-blessed floral centerpiece and a candelabra. He lit the candles and then, making certain his parents weren’t around, telekinetically set the table. He’d done it enough times it was second nature.  

“Voila,” he declared, waving his hands like Vanna White. Then he strutted toward the bar cart and gestured to Quentin to behold. “Any cocktail you want, and probably quite a few you’ve never imagined.” Then, spinning on his heel, he indicated the wine chiller. “Whites and sweet reds.” Then, with another fancy flourish, he opened a low cabinet to reveal a wine rack full of dry reds. “I know Marnelle’s Instant Aeration, so go wild, big man. Anything for my hero boyfriend.” 

It would honestly be romantic if his parents weren’t there. 

“Oh El… I know that you are a man capable of great cruelty, but you’re going to make me  _choose_? I mean… I want a cocktail, of course. You know what I’m going to ask for, right?” Quentin’s eyes sparkled, and Eliot tilted his head. “And I’d feel bad asking, but you’re you, and I’m here, and I think I’ve truly earned a Ramos Gin Fizz. You’re the only one who can do it.” 

If Eliot weren’t so sure that Quentin truly loved a Ramos Gin Fizz, he might think Quentin was trying to preoccupy Eliot with something that would keep him from his parents. As if Quentin would ever be so devious… 

Eliot narrowed his gaze and then broke out the Bombay Sapphire and the shaker. As Quentin watched, he removed his coat, hung it over the back of his chair, and then rolled up his sleeves neatly. Excitement built in him as he threw himself into the moment. He loved performing for an appreciative audience, and few people in his life had ever been as openly awed as Quentin by his bartending prowess.  

Juicing lemons and limes, Eliot measured out the liquid into the shaker with a heavy-handed pour of gin. Then he chilled the heavy cream to just above freezing and poured it in, cracked an egg and tipped in just the white, discarding the yolk, and broke out the almost frozen simple syrup. The colder the drink the better, in his opinion. It made it thicker and creamier.  

Then, the special ingredient, orange blossom water—Josh’s own recipe, made from his own bitter-orange blossoms. Quentin’s eyes would be rolling back in his head. This would be the freshest, most floral, most decadent Ramos Gin Fizz in history. 

When it was all just so, Eliot closed the shaker, turned on some bass-heavy music on his phone, and lifted the shaker in both hands to begin the lengthy process. He shook the shaker, shook his ass, and made silly faces at Quentin as he worked the cream and egg white into a lacey froth. He shook, and shook, and shook, shimmying up against Quentin as he worked, and then, with an overdramatic sigh, collapsed against the counter to open the shaker, dump in the ice, and close it up to shake it again.  

The ice added a nice aural component to the swooshing of the shaking, and Eliot felt like maybe he’d missed his calling as a musician. He kept shaking, meeting Quentin’s gaze challengingly, as if Quentin maybe didn’t really believe Eliot would do this fucking thing, but he  _would_  do the fucking thing. He would do the fucking thing so fucking hard that Quentin felt it for a week. 

That sort of crossed streams midway in his brain, and he knew he was leering, but really, wasn’t this what Quentin asked for?  

When the liquid was so thick the sound changed entirely, he stopped shaking and strained the liquid into a Collins glass. It was  _perfect_. Then he poured cold club soda into the shaker, swished it around to collect every last drop of creamy froth, and poured it into the top of the glass. Smiling as it fizzed up, Eliot placed the glass on a gilt serving tray and carried it waiter-style over to the table to place it theatrically at Quentin’s seat. 

It took a moment for him to realize his parents had arrived partway through that.  

Welp. 

“Ah, Mom. Dad. Come join us at the table.” He moved to pull out his mom’s chair for her, and she looked at him askance as she took her seat.  

Dad was glaring at him like he couldn’t believe such ineffable fruitiness had sprung from his loins. Well, same, Dad.  

“Your son’s a genius, I don’t know what else to say. That was amazing, El.” Quentin took his seat, looking honestly smitten and not just with the drink. He reached out and squeezed Eliot’s shoulder before he tried it. 

Q closed his eyes as he sipped and let out a soft moan of pleasure. “Wow, that is amazing. This is a Ramos Gin Fizz. They originated in New Orleans in the late 1800s. It’s obviously a very involved process, not something just anyone can really do to perfection. I gave him a little challenge. You want to try it?”  

Quentin grinned, looking between Mom and Dad, almost seeming to dare them. Mom smiled tentatively and extended her hand to try it. She sipped at it and then made a soft, surprised sound.  

“It’s like a milkshake.” She giggled, sounding delighted, and had another little sip, shooting Quentin a sheepish glance. “Mm. That’s lovely.” She passed it back to Quentin and then looked up at Eliot. “Where did you learn to do that, Eliot?” 

“In college.” He left it at that, not wanting to talk about just how much time and energy he’d spent befriending old money assholes who could help him become who he wanted to be—who he was  _meant_  to be.  

Eliot trailed his fingers across Quentin’s shoulders as he passed him and then headed back into the kitchen to change the music to something classical, pour the wine, and get his dad’s beer. As he did that, his dad took his seat and then sniffed noisily at the tabbouleh. 

“What’s this concoction? Is that—Is there beans in there?” Dad sounded so put out, like the absence of meat was going to kill him. 

“Chickpeas, actually. Well spotted.” Eliot kept his voice even as he placed their drinks around the table and then sat and passed around the serving dish. “It’s tabbouleh, with mint and feta. The chickpeas are for protein, but the bulgur is really very filling. It’s served cold, like just a really refreshing grain salad. I thought you might like something clean after all the traveling.”  

Which wasn’t entirely true, but Mom looked touched anyway. Dad looked—quite literally—less enthused than that time Eliot’s eldest brother brought home fresh roadkill for dinner and they all ate possum. Oh well, couldn’t win them all. 

And, Eliot reminded himself, he wasn’t  _trying_  to win them over. He was getting under their skin. It was hard to break with his innate drive to please guests.  

“It’s really good. You know Eliot has his own wall of herbs, and this mint is from that. He made me a mojito earlier. You can really taste the freshness of the mint,” Quentin said after serving himself and taking a few bites. He was doing such a great job of being a bubbly, doting boyfriend, which Eliot knew was really getting to Dad. Quentin appeared to notice it, too, and kept pausing as he ate to touch Eliot’s hand or his arm or sweep his hair behind his ear.  

As they were finishing their meal in almost complete silence, Quentin piped up, “He’s so handsome. I can see where he gets it. You’re both such lovely people. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get the opportunity to meet you, so it’s great that you’re visiting.” 

“Not visiting. Just seeing some idiot show Claudia likes.” Dad didn’t even look up from his food. 

“Ah, yes, I got tickets to  _Live with Kelly and Ryan_. I watch it every day. I really wanted to finally see it in person,” Mom explained, looking embarrassed. “Aaron agreed it could be our thirty-fifth anniversary gift.” 

After a moment, she gave Eliot an almost apologetic look and continued, “He said we could only spend seven hundred dollars on it, and that just barely covered the plane tickets. That’s twenty dollars for every year we’ve been married.”  

“So, Quentin, as you can see, they didn’t want to visit me. They simply didn’t have an Airbnb in the budget.” Eliot had figured as much. He sent Quentin a wry smile and then gestured to the dinner. “And there wasn’t food and drinks in the budget, so they’re making do with whatever I provide them. They really don’t have an alternative, do they?” 

“Either way, I’m glad to meet you both. It’s nice to see where such an important person in my life comes from.” Quentin smiled and his eyes glimmered with mischief, Eliot’s only hint to what was coming next and why. “And really good timing for me, because I’ve been really wanting to… I mean, we’ve been… It’s… well, I was hoping, Aaron, that I could get your permission to ask for Eliot’s hand in marriage.”  

Eliot stared. Aaron stared. Claudia burst into tears.  

Dad took a moment to drink his beer in silence. Then he grunted, “You’d make a mockery of the institution.” 

Mom shot him a despairing look, and it seemed, at least in that moment, that she wanted this for Eliot, that she desperately wanted him to be married and settled down and safe. He wasn’t sure why—her marriage to his dad wasn’t especially happy—but the mere maternal display made something in Eliot ache.  

Eliot looked to Quentin and then sipped his wine, trying to conceal the strange mixture of longing and alarm he felt at the situation. The longing was so much stronger than the kneejerk panic, though, and all he could do was stare at Quentin wide-eyed and try to remember this was  _fake_. After another swig of wine, he extended his hand to Quentin with a put-on smirk. “My dad doesn’t approve, but yes, Quentin. I’ll marry you.” 

Dad made a sound of disgust and threw his napkin at his picked-at plate before marching out of the room and letting himself out the front door. 

“Oh, I should do it properly!” Quentin sank to the floor on one knee and took Eliot’s hand.  

To Eliot’s great surprise, one of his rings was missing, but then he remembered that Quentin had a natural slight-of-hand-slash-temporal-displacement talent that came from his card magic. If he ever decided to become a pickpocket, he’d really clean up.  

If he hadn’t been looking directly at Quentin, he probably would’ve missed the illusion charm he cast before he produced a mini version of the crown of the High King of Fillory.  

Honestly, he could’ve just used whatever ring he’d stolen from Eliot’s hand. There was no way his parents would’ve noticed. But it was sweet of him to do and a nice reminder that Eliot was a king and not whatever his parents thought of him.  

Quentin held it, smiling, and then said, “Eliot Waugh, will you marry me?” 

Eliot gazed down at him and nodded, biting his lip and wondering how he’d ended up here. It was honestly the greatest troll Q could’ve busted out to rib Dad, but it was also oddly painful, knowing Q was gonna marry Alice someday, that Eliot had lost his chance.  

“Of course, Quentin. You’re the only one for me,” he answered, trying to sound flippant and failing. 

Mom sighed and clutched at the neckline of her blouse. Eliot looked at her and said, “Shh,” before returning his attention to Q and smiling at him. “Put that ring on my finger and kiss me, stud.” 

Quentin’s cheeks were rosy, and he actually appeared to be sweating a little, which was pretty adorable. He slid the ring on Eliot’s finger slowly, his hand shaking slightly, and then he slipped into Eliot’s lap and wrapped his arms around him to give him a long, slow kiss. 

One of those achingly sweet ones that was just about expressing affection and not necessarily aiming at seduction. Though it was incredibly seductive  _because_  of the affection. He cupped Eliot’s face, then slid his fingers back through Eliot’s hair and down to his nape when he finally broke the kiss.  

Eliot blinked open his eyes at Quentin and just stared, momentarily dumbstruck, and then leaned in to kiss him one more time, like punctuation, an official end to the kiss. Their lips brushed softly, and then Eliot sat back and let out a long, shivery breath. He’d almost forgotten how magical Quentin’s kisses were, how intense and toe-curling and, in this case, deceptively real.  

With a secretive little smile, Eliot looked into Quentin’s eyes and asked, “Coldwater-Waugh?” 

Mom made a stifled little sound, and he glanced over to see her blushing and averting her gaze, but she was obviously touched by the situation. Eliot really hadn’t envisioned that as a thing that might happen. 

“Yeah. I like that. Quentin Coldwater-Waugh. Eliot Coldwater-Waugh.” He smiled at Eliot and it seemed so easy, so real. Just the relaxed smile of a fiancé. “I like being up here. Now I can put my chin on  _your_  head.” 

Quentin did exactly that and hugged Eliot close. “Should we have some champagne to celebrate?” 

“Indubitably.” Eliot grinned. That was something he could get behind. He swatted Quentin’s ass. “Go get the bottle of brut out of the wine chiller. Wait—”  

Eliot wrapped his arms tight around Quentin and then boosted his thighs a little more as he stood, carrying Quentin with him, staggering laughing toward the kitchen with his arms and his heart full of Q.  

“Eliot!” Mom called, sounding shocked. 

Eliot laughed harder and teased, “Mom!”  

Then he kissed Quentin’s jaw and set him down in front of the wine chiller, slipping his arms around Quentin’s waist as he stood behind him and waited for Quentin to procure the desired bottle of bubbly.  

Quentin let out a little sigh of pleasure as he opened the wine chiller and pulled out the champagne. He quickly unwrapped the top and easily worked the cork out like a master.  

Mom had followed, having knocked back the remainder of her wine. She held out her wine glass for a pour, but Quentin went into the cabinets to get out the champagne flutes.  

“Shall I pour an extra one for Aaron? You could take it to him…” 

“That’s very considerate, Quentin,” Mom said quietly, sounding sad, as if she wanted to like Quentin less than she did. “He wouldn’t drink to it, though.” After a moment, under her breath, she looked up into Eliot’s eyes and said, “He won’t be happy I’m doing it either, but I celebrated the rest of my babies’ engagements, and I’m gonna drink to this one too.” 

Eliot reached out and hugged his mom sideways before he could second guess himself, and the strange, long-unfamiliar comfort of her arm around his waist gave him a bloom of feeling in his chest that almost brought tears to his eyes. He tamped down on that quickly and pulled away from her, reaching for his champagne reflexively.  

Quentin handed him the first one and then poured another for Mom. He finished off with his. “That’s too bad for him. He’s missing out on knowing Eliot better and also some really fabulous champagne. Too bad that my dad passed away and can’t celebrate with us, but I know he’s looking down at us proudly. He knew about Eliot, and I told him that I wanted to spend my life with him.” 

At that, Quentin looked a little sad. He had loved his dad so much and he’d lost him in the middle of Eliot’s absence. Maybe it wasn’t such a shock that he’d sought comfort in the familiar where he could get it. 

“I’m so sorry, Q,” Eliot whispered, earnestly, and leaned in to wrap his arm around Quentin’s back and hold him. He didn’t even know what else to say to that. Horrible as his parents could be, he still had them. Then, confidently, just as earnest, he kissed Quentin’s temple fiercely and said, “I’m your family now.” 

Eliot hugged him closer and closed his eyes, wishing so much that this wasn’t pretend, that he could just give Quentin a family again. It had never been what Eliot wanted or intended, and he’d freaked out when Quentin seemed to want to go there again, but… 

Sighing, Eliot regretted all his life decisions that had gotten in the way of just making Quentin happy. He was good, and true, and pure, and a smol precious bean, and Eliot wanted to protect him at all costs. Instead, Quentin was protecting him. First from the Monster, and now from Aaron Waugh. 

“To our families. Past, present, and future.” Quentin held up his flute to clink against everyone else’s. His eyes watered, and it didn’t seem to be put on as he looked up at Eliot. “We’re family no matter what happens. We’ve been family in one way or another since we met. There’s nothing that can change that. Never, El.” 

To that, Quentin drank. 

Eliot drank too, so grateful for Quentin that he didn’t have words. He avoided his mother’s teary gaze, not wanting to engage with her about this. This wasn’t her moment, and she didn’t understand, and she never would. Not that it mattered. Eliot had long ago closed his heart to his blood relatives as a matter of survival. 

But his friends… 

Margo was the sister he’d never had, although considerably closer than a sister ever would be. He didn’t know a lot of people who did sex magic or had threesomes with their sister. Margo was just…everything. 

And now she had Josh, and… Well. 

But Quentin was something to Eliot that not even Margo could be. Eliot felt something fragile, and enduring, and intoxicating, and  _awful_  for Q. They’d shared a whole life together, till Eliot’s death did they part. 

It was mind-blowing. 

He still couldn’t think about it without getting extremely uncomfortable at the solidity of that, the permanence, but as much as one part of him fought it, another part craved it. 

“Oh Quentin,” he sighed finally, when he’d nearly drained his flute. He leaned in for another kiss, not for show, but because Eliot couldn’t bear the idea of  _not_  kissing Quentin.  

Quentin kissed him back, just as sweet and loving as he’d been before, making it difficult for Eliot not to read into his words. They were accurate, though. Even if he’d questioned Quentin’s name at the start, he’d been quietly rooting for him to make it into the school and felt bound to help and protect him, even if his responsibility to Quentin ended at pushing him into the exam. 

Mosaic or not, they’d been family. And with no notice and no plan, Quentin had dropped everything to help Eliot out. Even if Quentin wasn’t officially recognized as family, he’d proven through action that he’d pretty much do anything for Eliot. 

 _Except not date Alice._  

No point being bitter, though.  

Eliot took a deep breath as they broke their kiss and rested his brow against Q’s, eyes closed, trying to memorize every detail, from Q’s champagne breath to the softness of his hair against Eliot’s forehead to the small, vital, amazingly strong body so close to his own. He opened his eyes then to look at Q and rubbed their noses together affectionately before stepping back. He looked to his mom then and smiled a little.  

“Anyway, I guess I should clear the table. I doubt Dad’s going to finish his plate, but I can put his food in the fridge, just in case.” 

Mom nodded and sipped her champagne, seeming misty and awkward. “It was very good, but you know your father and his meat.” 

Eliot snorted delicately. “I know.” 

He tucked his hand in Quentin’s extremely snug back pocket and tugged him along toward the dining table, wishing his mom weren’t here so he could just clear it with magic. As Eliot was considering an excuse to send her out of the room, the front door banged open, and Dad barged back into the apartment. 

“Bunch of fuckin’ freaks livin’ in this building,” he blustered, face hard and angry. “Guess you finally found a place you belong.” 

“I really have,” Eliot retorted acidly. “And the sooner you go back to where  _you_  belong, the happier I’ll fucking be.” 

He really felt so much freer around his father since he’d fed his illusion to cannibals in the Neitherlands. It had been deeply cathartic. 

Quentin asserted himself before anything could escalate. “We were just going to clear the table. Did you want any more of your dinner or should we toss it?” 

Before anyone could answer or move, Robyn’s “Call Your Girlfriend” started playing, and Quentin startled and pulled out his phone. Alice’s face and name appeared on the screen, and for a moment Quentin just froze, staring at it like he wasn’t sure what to do. After a beat, he sent it to voicemail.  

“Sorry, thought I had that turned off.” 

Eliot’s stomach sank. He forced a laugh and rested his hand on Quentin’s nape, giving it a little squeeze. “Do you need a minute, honeybutt?” 

“Who was that?” Dad demanded, craning his neck to stare at Quentin’s phone screen. “Why you got a pretty girl like that calling you?” 

 _Fucking great._  

Mom bustled over to stand with Dad, one hand on his arm as if she’d gentle him somehow, as if she had the guts, as if he had the capacity. 

“Uh… my ex.” Quentin said it dismissively as he put his phone back into his pocket. “Not sure why she’s calling. I’ll call her back tomorrow.” 

The phone went off again, and Quentin closed his eyes in apparent frustration, pulled the phone out, sent it to voicemail, and then went into his settings to put it in airplane mode.  

“Your ex is a pretty girl?” Dad shook off Mom’s hand. He seemed deeply offended, on the borderline between disbelief and outrage. “You got a pretty girl like that who wants to talk to you, and you’re askin’  _him_  to marry you? Are you soft in the head? This gay thing’s a perversion. You gotta shake that off, son, and get your head right.” 

“Hey!” Eliot protested, drawing Quentin closer to him, protective instincts engaged. “You don’t know anything about Quentin.” 

“I’m not in love with her.” Quentin said it so matter-of-factly it sounded like it might well be true, but it really was the best answer. “I’m in love with Eliot. I’m still friends with her; we just don’t work.” 

He rubbed his forehead, a bit of the manic energy returning that was the only indication Quentin was agitated. “Anyway, did you want to see Eliot’s ring? He accepted.” 

“Fuck no,” Dad blurted, obviously still hung up on the Alice situation. 

Eliot was hung up on the whole  _I’m in love with Eliot_  situation, which had sounded heartbreakingly real and was tying knots in Eliot’s insides as his stomach’s butterflies simultaneously fluttered and kamikaze’d. Tabbouleh was not nearly as pretty coming back up, a fact Eliot had learned after a late night, post-party Mediterranean takeout sesh.  

Trying to steel himself to see this through, Eliot thrust out his hand anyway, displaying the distinctive band, and narrowed his gaze spitefully. “Quentin’s going to marry me, and we’re going to take the surname Coldwater-Waugh. Sounds nice, don’t you think? Although, I guess if you’re so keen to disown me, I could just take his name, and you could get bent.” 

“Take  _his_  name?” Dad appeared flabbergasted briefly and then scowled. “Like a fucking woman? No, sir, Eliot, you aren’t takin’ any goddamn man’s last name.”  

Then he turned his focus on Quentin, like he could somehow save Quentin from the assumed dumpster fire that was Eliot’s life. “Son, why on earth would you want to hyphenate your name anyway? Why don’t you call back that pretty little blonde and just go make things right? You’re not gay. You don’t gotta live this way.” 

“I’m  _not_  gay. I’m bisexual. And it wouldn’t do the pretty blonde any favors for me to pretend to feel something that I don’t feel for her. Or me. Or Eliot. Eliot makes me happy. It’s that simple. Just like your wife makes you happy.” Quentin’s agitation seemed to have burned away, leaving him answering Dad directly and with an energy that made it feel like Quentin believed what he said.  

It was also the first time Quentin had put a label like that on himself, and Eliot felt bad for forcing the issue under circumstances like these, but on the other hand...  

What if Quentin wasn’t just acting? What if he really  _was_   comfortable just...being  bisexual?  What if he  _wasn’t_   just  situationally heteroflexible   with a deep  preference for  giant,  Alice- eseque  breasts ?  What if he was capable of really , deeply,  _romantically_  loving Eliot? 

The idea panicked Eliot as much as it excited him because  _what if it wasn’t true?_   Eliot couldn’t handle being crushed like that right now. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. No. 

But whether it was true or not, he wasn’t letting Quentin fight Aaron alone. 

“Bisexuals exist, Dad.” Eliot snugged his arm around Quentin and hugged him close. “Quentin’s proud to be with me. He could be with a beautiful girl, sure, but he could also be with a beautiful  _me,_ and he chose  _me_. He cares a lot more about my awesome personality and epic blowjobs than he does about the enormous fucking cock I can only assume I did not inherit from you.” 

“It’s true. His dick is huge.” Quentin nodded though every bit of skin that Eliot could see was hot pink. “Anyway, Eliot, as I said before, my dad, before he passed away, knew about us, and I know he’d be proud for you to wear his name if you wanted to. All he ever wanted for me was for me to be happy. That’s what good parents want for their children.” 

“Quentin—” Mom interjected just as Dad’s mouth opened. 

“What the hell do you know about parenting, son? If your own dad had really loved you, he’d have set you right instead of letting you harbor these delusions that this is any kind of way to live your life.” 

He was poised to say more, but Eliot flung his hand toward the door and shouted, “Out!” 

The front door burst open with Eliot’s power, and his parents whirled that direction, eyes wide. “Go. Wait in the hall. We will bring your things to the doorstep. I will call a Lyft. I will book you a room.” 

“Eliot...” Mom gazed at him, expression one of pleading reproach. “You wouldn’t throw us out in the dark in a strange place, would you?” 

He tensed as he considered that and then looked to his dad. “You will not speak another word about Ted Coldwater. Your will keep his name out of your mouth. You will not tell Quentin a goddamn  _word_  about parenting. He’s a better father than you will ever be, to me or anyone. You can stay tonight, but if you don’t fly home tomorrow, you’re on your own.” 

Quentin slipped his hand under Eliot’s vest, as close as he could get to touching Eliot’s back skin to skin without seriously disrupting the line of his couture. His fingers spread and he stroked him soothing like. “It’s all right, El. It’s okay. Thank you. You don’t have to say that just because you call me daddy.” 

His hand slipped out from under Eliot’s vest to give him a butt squeeze and smiled up at Eliot, as sunny as he’d ever been. “You know, maybe in thirty-five years, we too can have seven hundred dollars to spend on our anniversary. But I know that when we do, we won’t be so critical of our hosts in their own home. I was raised better than that.” 

Wow. Sass.  _Hello,_ _Quentin._   

Eliot laughed and motioned to his parents to get out of his sight, occupying himself with Quentin instead. “We’re not going to have a kumbaya teen movie bonding moment, Aaron. And I know you’re loyal to him in ways you’ll never be to me, Claudia. It’s okay. Just don’t expect me to be your ride or die, because it won’t happen. You have my perfect brothers for that. Go see Kelly and Ryan, enjoy your little taste of...’culture’...and get the hell back to Nowheresville, Indiana, where you belong.” 

Claudia made a small, wounded noise and tugged at Aaron, drawing him back toward the guest room. Aaron glared at Eliot, but he said nothing for once in his goddamn life.  

Smart choice.  

“Oh, I like Kelly Ripa,” Quentin said as he turned to face Eliot, keeping his arms around him. “Less of a Ryan Seacrest fan. I don’t know why. Something about him just rubs me the wrong way. Anyway, happy engagement, darling. We won’t let them ruin it for us.” 

Quentin kept it up while Eliot’s parents went into Margo’s old room.  

Once the door shut, his expression fell, and he exhaled loudly before pressing his face to Eliot’s chest. “Jesus Christ, what a nightmare.” 

“I’m so sorry, Q,” Eliot whispered, acutely contrite. He cradled the back of Quentin’s head in one hand and hugged him. The reminder it was all an act—that Quentin didn’t really feel that way—crushed Eliot, and he backed toward his chair, drawing Quentin with him.  

Perching on his seat, Eliot pulled Quentin onto his lap and snuggled him as he reached for his wine, suddenly needing it  _very_  badly. Swallowing alcohol and emotion, Eliot reminded himself to keep breathing. 

Then, after a bit, he murmured, “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this, but you’re an absolute fucking champion of sassing parents, Q. I’m impressed, honestly. Thank you.” 

“No, I mean, that you had to grow up with them, with that. I’m amazed you… that you are you.  _That_  is what is impressive. I was trying not to lose it, but then he was acting as if you aren’t deserving of love and I just… I don’t know. It really made me angry. You deserve love, El. And you are so loved.” Quentin cupped Eliot’s cheek, stroking gently. “I did tell my dad about the Mosaic. About Ted and everything. It did make him really happy.” 

That hit Eliot hard. He blinked stinging eyes and averted his gaze even as he turned his face automatically to kiss Quentin’s palm. He hid there, lips pressed to Quentin’s skin, and tried to gather his wits. After a few moments, he lifted his hands, worked a series of precise tuts, and sent the plates to the sink, and then closed and locked the front door. With the table cleared, he gathered Quentin in his arms and stood, giving Quentin a moment to find his feet, before Eliot walked him silently to the bedroom.  

Once inside, he closed and locked the bedroom door and the door to the shared bathroom before turning on some soothing music. There wasn’t anywhere to sit in his room except on the bed—it was a dinky Brooklyn bedroom and a palatial Eliot bed—so he flopped down and patted the spot next to him. They needed to talk. Eliot couldn’t handle this. 

But first... 

“What do you think Alice wanted?” 

“Oh. Um. I don’t know. We haven’t spoken in a couple of weeks. Maybe she’s coming back to town. I don’t really… want to talk to her right now.” Quentin looked uncomfortable with the subject matter, but started stripping out of the suit, down to the shirt and pants before he crawled into bed next to Eliot.  

He lay on his side with his head on his hand. Casual, as if it was just a regular sleepover. 

 

“You aren’t...worried what she might think if you ignore her while you’re...on a break?” Eliot turned onto his side facing Quentin and slipped his hand under the pillow, gazing at Quentin and still horribly overdressed. “I guess you don’t want to talk about where you were or what happened either.” 

“Oh, um… no, I’m not worried about it.” Quentin averted his gaze, looking up at the art, seeming to go far away for a moment, frowning. “Some of it was recovery. I didn’t get dragged into the Seam, but all that magical energy Everett generated had to go  _somewhere._ ” 

He looked down at his hand as he traced patterns on the duvet. “Anyway, I had to be drained, and I wasn’t really awake, so I can’t tell you if it was unpleasant. I was just out at the Library. Apparently now they have a whole lot of magical backup and won’t need to grind up fairies, so that’s good news.” 

“Oh. Wow.” Eliot had been so wrapped up in his own recovery and heartache that it hadn’t occurred to him to really think about what effects Quentin’s near-death might’ve had on him. Feeling a little caught-out in his lamentable self-obsession, Eliot reached out to cover Quentin’s hand with his own and gazed at him across the big bed. “I’m glad you’re doing better now, Q. I um... I had a difficult... I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, when you were... Was Alice at least...” 

Eliot trailed off, not knowing how to articulate his hope that  _someone_  had been there for Quentin through it. 

“Yeah. Alice and Dean Fogg. I was in the Library, it’s not as if they allow visitors, for the most part. I guess Alice and Fogg have a special relationship with them, so… don’t feel bad. You had your own recovery.” Quentin turned his hand over and twined their fingers together. “Like I said, I was out for most of it. Dreamed I had died and everyone sang A-ha for some reason. I guess I’d just seen Deadpool 2 and thought that was... I don’t know. It didn’t make a lot of sense.” 

Eliot chuckled and tightened his grip on Quentin’s hand. “Thanks for letting me off the hook, but I... I should’ve been there. Everything you did... It was because of me.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “I don’t know why you thought I was worth it, but... I’m really grateful. I...” 

Maybe it was the wine talking, but Eliot found himself saying, “Peaches and plums, Q,” when what he meant was  _I love_ _you_. 

Quentin’s cheeks turned red and he nodded. “Yeah. Peaches and plums. You’re family no matter what. I know that wasn’t… but even before that, we were. So, you know, I’m always going to be here. I mean, as long as I am here. I know things were... It all got weird. I just figured you needed space.” 

Eliot shifted closer across the bed, gazing at Quentin, and said, “I would like less space, please.” 

“You sure?” Quentin scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Eliot’s waist, just slotting into place as if he belonged there. His breath grew unsteady and he dropped back a little, searching Eliot’s eyes.  

Eliot licked his lips and exhaled shakily as he looked into Quentin’s eyes in turn, struck as ever by the intensity of Quentin’s presence, how vibrant and intelligent and  _true_  he was. “Yeah, I’m sure, Q.” 

Eliot’s collar was choking him now, and he was overall extremely uncomfortable in his layers, and he tilted his head and asked, “Will you help me out of this godawful tweed?” 

“Yeah.” Quentin seemed a little breathless as he undid Eliot’s vest, then reached to unfasten his collar. After a couple of buttons, he paused. He clutched the material, looking at the exposed skin with longing, then he pulled Eliot forward and kissed him hard. Demanding and overwhelming, even a little rough. Not the sweet kisses in front of his parents. This was real, and so raw that Eliot thought Quentin might well just rip his shirt right off. 

But instead, he broke the kiss, releasing Eliot and shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

“What? Why are you—” Eliot blinked, dazed by that kiss, thoughts buzzing. He couldn’t quite breathe. “Don’t be sorry, Q. Don’t ever be sorry to me.” 

Eliot reached for Quentin, sliding his hand down his spine to the small of his back, and then leaned in to kiss him again, testing Quentin, keeping his touch soft and light, luring Quentin out to play. 

Quentin kissed him back, leaning in, letting it build, but then he’d stop again, just to look at Eliot, as if he was trying to decipher something.  

Or maybe it was guilt. 

But they were on a break. 

Or something. 

“What is it, Q?” Eliot rubbed tiny circles into Quentin’s back, slowly working up the hem of his shirt to slide his hand beneath and massage his skin. “What’s wrong? Is this...” He braced himself to give Q an out and asked, “Do you need to call Alice or something?” 

His voice came out sounding flat and bitter despite Eliot’s best effort. 

“No.” Quentin said it almost too quickly. “I mean… no. No… no. She’d be so mad at me right now.” 

“Because you’re here with me?” Eliot asked, raising a brow. “Or because you’re here kissing me? If you’re on a  _break_ , it’s not... I know I’m her least favorite person to share you with probably, but I was here first.”  

Smirking to cover his anxiety, Eliot tucked his fingertips beneath Quentin’s waistband in the back and studied him. “But look, if this is... If this is too much, then we can just... Troll my parents some more.” 

“We’re not on a break.” Quentin rolled his eyes and snuggled closer to Eliot. “I don’t know why I said that. I guess I just… didn’t want you to feel sorry for me or something. I don’t know if it’s too much. I don’t… I don’t know.” 

As he spoke, he started undoing Eliot’s shirt, so apparently part of him knew what he wanted, and Eliot could feel his interest against his thigh.  

Eliot’s heart thundered. He tried to be cool—he'd always been so cool, hadn’t he?—but sweat was beading at his brow and his skin burned with excitement. “So you broke up with her?” 

As soon as he said it, Eliot knew that was hoping for too much. It wasn’t like Q had broken it off and called Eliot up to invite him over for some rebound sex. If anyone ended it, it was Alice, and it could’ve been for just about any reason, honestly.  

“I mean, I think so.” Quentin sighed as he finished with Eliot’s buttons and pressed his hands to Eliot’s skin. “We were at a couple’s retreat, trying to work on things. She asked me to leave, and we haven’t talked. But, given the talks we were having...” 

He waved it off. “You don’t want to know all of this.” 

“What I want to know is if I have a chance now,” Eliot said quietly, stroking the skin under Quentin’s waistband. His gaze flicked from Quentin’s lips to his eyes. “I... I regret how I left things between us. I was a coward, Q. I’m not— But I’ve been a fucking mess since I woke up, and I’ve made myself scarce because I just couldn’t be happy for you and Alice.” 

Quentin froze and stared at Eliot as if he’d slapped him. Eliot was already trying to figure out how to walk back what he’d said when Quentin spoke. “We did this… empathy exercise. You know, magic. Kind of like back at Brakebills. And she saw… she saw everything.” 

He bit his lip and slid his thumb over Eliot’s mouth. “The life together and… and that I wasn’t over you. She was so hurt, El. I felt so bad. I just thought you… and that I should… and she really wanted me and put herself on the line, and I thought… I thought it could be enough. 

“She asked me to leave, and she stayed at the retreat. She was making friends there, and she needed to process. Fogg let me move back into the cottage and gave me the job starting at the new semester. I just didn’t think… that my feelings were welcome. They haven’t changed.” 

Eliot didn’t even know how to process that, much less know what to  _say_ , so he just blurted, “Alice and you broke up over me?” 

The  _again_ went unspoken. 

“I guess that’s one way to look at it.” Quentin frowned and started to back up. “I knew I shouldn’t say anything. I’m sorry, El. It’s not your fault. It’s just me. I need to manage myself better.” 

“No!” Eliot reached for Quentin, whole body yearning toward him, and confessed quietly, “I just never imagined you’d choose me over her, not if...”  _Not if you had a choice_. 

After a beat, he asked Quentin, “Are you, um... When you said what you did about... How much of... You’re not the best actor, Q.” 

“Thanks?” He remained in place but looked at Eliot and there was a flash or terror in his eyes and then hurt and he averted his gaze. “Alice would probably disagree with you. But yeah. What I told your dad… wasn’t exactly a lie, if that’s what you’re saying.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying, very badly, apparently.” Eliot wetted his lips and shifted closer, reaching out to touch Q’s face. “I’m also trying to say, or not say, or get around saying somehow...”  

He sucked in a deep breath and looked into Q’s eyes, trying his best smile. “I’m in love with you, Q. When I— That's what the peaches and plums were all about. A declaration of love. I was... I thought you’d understand. I want that, Q. I want  _you_. I want to give us a shot. But then you were with Alice again, and...” He sighed. “I thought I must have misunderstood or... That I was too late. But if you...” 

“El!” It came out loud and almost miserable as Quentin’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t… I thought you were just trying to say something that I’d know wasn’t coming from the Monster. I didn’t think it was…” 

Quentin pressed himself bodily to Eliot, clinging tightly. “I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t get it. I… I didn’t want to read more than what was there and I just… God, I fucked up so bad. I didn’t want to hurt anybody, but I hurt everyone. But I love you, Eliot. I love you so much. And it’s not that I want to go live on some… farm or whatever. I just… we’ve always been so… and I just, I fell in love with my best friend and I didn’t want to lose that, even if we couldn’t be…” 

“But we  _can_  be,” Eliot said, heart pounding. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the world. He hugged Quentin tight and tucked his chin atop Quentin’s head in his absolute favorite position, his little pocket-sized Q who was too bold and brave and amazing to be so small but wouldn’t be half as perfect if he wasn’t.  

Smoothing soothing loops over Q’s back, Eliot murmured, “You can just...  _We_  can just...”  

He cast around for the right words, for  _true_  words, and dug  deep for his courage.  “When I told my parents I had a live-in  boyfriend, I was thinking about living  with  _you_ , Q. I was thinking... that was what I wanted most, to have you with me every day, sleeping in my bed, eating breakfast with me, goofing around and just being your nerdy fucking self.”  

Closing his eyes, Eliot let his motivations and weird impulses be laid bare. “I wanted them to think my life was perfect, and it would be, if I had you here with me.” 

Drawing back a little to look into Quentin’s face, Eliot searched his expression and asked, “So do you think you’d want to move in with me? Be my live-in boyfriend? I’m terrible at dating, just so,  _so_ bad, but if we could skip the dumb part and jump straight to the best friends who are in love and having filthy, amazing sex, that would be fantastic.” 

Quentin pushed away and wiggled up on the bed so he could meet Eliot’s gaze and nodded. “Yeah. I do. You really want to skip dating?” 

He sniffed and rubbed his red eyes. “I want to give this a shot. I don’t think I can… if we don’t work, we don’t work, but I’m in love with you and I can’t deny that. I just didn’t want to lose you. I thought I had once. The Monster… after my dad died… and we were… I thought we were bonding. We smashed Dad’s planes and… and then he told me… he told me he felt your soul die and… and I thought that was it. For real. And I was going to kill him.” 

Quentin swallowed hard, and Eliot could feel Quentin’s pain and confusion, losing his dad and then thinking Eliot was gone. He wasn’t in the right mind to understand Eliot’s message. 

“We were just about to do it. I could’ve killed you for real.” Quentin brought his hand up to cover his mouth as if saying it out loud shocked him. “We redoubled our efforts to free you. I was just flailing, El. The Monster really fucked with me and he enjoyed it, and I just got so turned around. I’m sorry. I want to live here with you. I think it’s what I’ve always wanted, but then to see it in a timeline that we  _could_ work… I can’t help but want it.” 

“I want it too. I always... Living together at the Physical Kids Cottage and seeing you day in and day out was just... I had such a crush, Q. I don’t know how you could’ve missed it. And then you left for Brakebills South, and I just... Ugh. Mike.” Eliot’s stomach churned just saying the name. He let out a shivery breath and hugged Quentin to him. “I was such a mess, and you had Alice, and... I just thought, ‘Well, what did you expect, El? He’s straight.’”  

Eliot laughed bitterly and kissed Quentin’s forehead, gentle and grounding. Then he looked in his eyes again and smiled a little. “I’m not really a very good person, Q. I definitely don’t deserve you. But if you’re crazy enough to want to be with me after everything, then I’m definitely not going to say no a second time.” 

Then, thoughtfully, Eliot reached down and took off the ring Quentin had enchanted, pressing it into Q’s hand. “You hang onto this, okay? I’m not... I’m not there yet, but maybe someday. We’ll just...go as slow as guys who’ve already been together for fifty years possibly can.” 

Quentin held it, staring at it. “But it’s your ring. When or if we’re ready, I’ll buy you a new one and not propose in front of homophobes. When or if I propose, I’ll sweep you off your feet and it won’t be able needling your parents.” 

He pressed it back to Eliot’s hand after removing the illusion. “I haven’t really seen myself as straight in a while. The retreat helped me to articulate that better. Honestly, it was good I went there. It was a lot of therapy and helped clear things up.” 

After folding Eliot’s hand around his own ring, Quentin leaned in and kissed Eliot sweetly. Eliot kissed him back, eager and thrilled, and feeling something deep down he couldn’t name or even look at dead-on.  

“Q,” he whispered, smiling against his mouth. “Does this mean we’re boyfriends now?” 

“I think so. I mean… if I’m living here… that’s at least boyfriend level. Exclusive?” Quentin raised his brows, seeming so hopeful. 

“Exclusive,” Eliot agreed, and he saw his adamance relax Quentin. Good. They were on the same page. Grinning, Eliot whispered, “I’m finally dating a professor!” 

“It’s not going to do your grades any good, El.” Quentin beamed at Eliot. “I guess I can call Alice back. She’ll be… relieved, I think. I honestly don’t know why she called tonight of all nights.” 

The last thing Eliot wanted was for Quentin to shift his focus to Alice right now, but it was probably for the best. Eliot’s plans for the rest of the night would go much more smoothly if Q had already gotten Alice out of his system. 

“I’ll just finish undressing then while you ring her back.” That was no doubt the best way to keep Quentin’s apparently bisexual priorities in order. 

“Okay, but… Yeah, I guess we don’t have to Facetime.” Quentin sat up and pulled out his phone. He called Alice back and was quiet for a moment. Eliot took advantage of that to get out of bed and start stripping. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you. I’m… I’m with Eliot.” Quentin said, smiling. His smile grew indicating that Alice was apparently being supportive and happy and then his expression fell. 

“Again? I mean. Yeah. Sure, I guess so, but I thought Julia— yeah. True. She is a goddess now. You think it’s…? Yeah. Okay. No, it’s good. Thank you for telling me. Yeah. I will. Um… have fun, I guess. Yeah. Bye.” Quentin looked over at Eliot, taking in his nudity with dilated pupils.  

He set his phone down and started on his own clothes. “She’s happy for us. She fucked Penny 23 and just wanted me to hear it from her, so… it’s all good.” 

“I always wondered why she didn’t just date Penny if she liked him so much,” Eliot mused, moving to help Quentin undress. “I mean,  _our_ Penny, obviously, but I’m sure twenty-third timeline Penny is...just as...”  

Eliot trailed off as more of Quentin’s bare skin came into view and his brain went partially offline. He stared, sighed, and leaned in to kiss Quentin gently. “I don’t care. Do you care? I could help you _not_ care.” 

“Penny 40 was to piss me off. This was just…” Quentin shrugged. “Because he’s hot? I don’t know. She just didn’t want me to get ambushed by it, which was nice of her but no, I don’t really care beyond I hope she’s having a good time.” 

Quentin pulled off his socks last and pulled back the duvet and the sheets. “Because I know I’m about to have a  _very_  good time.” 

“Mm,” Eliot agreed. “You really are.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut in the next chapter. >_>
> 
> There will probably only be three chapters, but don't hold me to that. IDK. We've gotta get back to Sound & Color ASAP, but this story wasn't gonna leave us alone. <_<
> 
> Thanks for reading! ♥


	3. In Which Q Discovers a New Kink, and in Which El's Parents Go the Fuck Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Behold the smut, wherein Q discovers a new kink, Eliot delights in making Q so happy, and El's parents finally go the fuck home.

Eliot slipped naked between the dark silk sheets and held out his arms to Quentin, nervous and excited in a way he hadn’t been in what felt like years. No one had ever gotten to him like Quentin did, ever made him feel quite so alive. He reached for Q with grabby hands, greedy for him, and murmured, “ C’mere  and kiss me, boyfriend.”

“Okay but I have a question,” Quentin said as he slipped into bed and wiggled closer to Eliot. “Do I get to use your employee discount at Barneys? Because I feel like you’re  going to just mock my clothes until I do something. Not that being a professor pays great.”

He smoothed his hands over  Eliot’s chest , smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Eliot laughed and leaned in to kiss Quentin’s lips gently and then asked, “In all seriousness, Q, can I be your sugar daddy ?  I will dress you up in the best clothes, and you will be  Brakebills ’  most dapper professor, and Henry  Fogg will have to just eat his  attractive heart out.”

It honestly sounded like a dream.  Eliot couldn’t imagine  anything more delightful.

Quentin laughed  and then seemed to realize how serious Eliot was. “Well don’t get me fired.  Fogg takes his fashion seriously.  How would you dress me if you could?  Tell me while I suck your cock.”

He braced his hands on Eliot’s shoulders to push him to lie flat on the bed and then started kissing down his body , gaze locked with  Eliot’s.  Eliot just stared, mouth  suddenly dry, and  thanked Julia  wherever she was for helping his lost ass  figure this out.

“Um. Right . So...”  Eliot blinked a few times  as he shivered under Q’s  hands,  squirming a little  as anticipation overwhelmed him .  “God, Q ...”

Trying to pull it together, Eliot  managed, “I’d  put you in  silk and cashmere and  the finest fabric,  so only the softest,  best things ever touched your  precious skin.  I would barely be  able to keep my  hands off you, but that’s no  different than it is now.”  Smiling, he reached down to twine his fingers in Quentin’s hair, playing with it a little. “And you could grow this back out. I miss your long hair .”

“Like all the  way down my back?” Quentin paused over Eliot’s hipbones and flicked his hair back before lowering his head to  drag his teeth lightly over Eliot’s skin .  He  swirled his tongue over where his teeth had been and then started  scooting back , settling in between his legs.  “ Guess we’ll find out  whether gag reflex is primarily mental or if there’s a physical component . ”

“Oh shit.”  Eliot startled a  little as it hit him.  “You’ve never done this, in this body . In this life.”

He exhaled heavily and  tenderly cradled Quentin’s face in his  palm.  “I get to have all those firsts with  you again.” Smiling, he whispered, “This time I’ll  memorize it all, and  I’ll never forget.”

“I have memories of doing it , but not… I mean, maybe I should’ve sucked a few dicks before coming over.”  Quentin grinned up at him, his eyes  wide  and  sparkling  in that playful way he had .  Then he  licked Eliot’s dick, far less  tentative  than Eliot remembered. Quentin  gripped it at the base and mouthed the head, seeming to familiarize himself  with the feeling. 

Eliot didn’t recognize the sound he made at that. He did not recall having ever made that sound before. It didn’t matter though, because Quentin was between his thighs, gazing up at him,  _ in love with  _ _ him,  _ and  Eliot had never been more turned on by  anything in his life.

As Quentin mouthed  Eliot’s cock, Eliot  fisted one hand in the sheets and  tightened his grip on  Quentin’s hair. “Going to  put you in  long  cardigans you can hide in and  shirts so soft  they’re like whispers on  your skin.  I’ll dress you in  those  skinny-legged jeans that no  one but you can pull off and  tall boots  with  heels so you can strut .  Scarves. You’ll have  long scarves  you  can play  with until your hair grows back out , gives you something  to do with your hands.  I’ll choose jewelry for  you, bracelets and rings and  necklaces, and you’ll  look exactly like you know what  you’re doing, and  it’ll give you confidence to fake it till  you make it, and when you teach your  reverse entropy class, everyone  will just be so in love with you  they do  whatever you say.”

He knew he was babbling—Quentin's mouth felt  _ so fucking good _ —but he kept talking anyway, voice pitched low and  seductive,  like he was saying something dirty when  it was only  love. 

“You’ll be all  draped  in things I  chose, and  you’ll look like  my favorite version of  you, and people will see  you the way I see you finally, and  when you’re  anxious, you’ll feel  those  clothes  wrapped around you  like my arms, and you’ll know you’re  safe. And when the day is done,  you can come home to me, and I’ll  cook for you like I used to, like I  did at the cottage, and make you gin  milkshakes, and  we’ll kiss until our lips are raw.  Just kiss, and curl up on  the couch, and  undress each other for hours  until we finally fall into bed ,  and  I’m  losing my mind, Quentin.  You’ve  gotta  do something.”

“Yeah? What do you want me to do?”  Q  took more of Eliot’s cock into his mouth , swallowing but  also gagging a little. He didn’t panic, though, just rubbed his saliva over Eliot’s  shaft  until he was ready to try again. 

It didn’t look like he had as much trouble this time . He  swallowed , pulling him deep , then backed off again . Training himself on Eliot’s dick. On the spot.  Shamelessly . 

While he  gave himself another moment of break, Quentin grinned up at Eliot. “I like that idea. Though I am a little worried about  heels . I’ll try them, though. For you.”

Then he started to suck Eliot’s cock in earnest ,  letting Eliot’s  tip into  his throat but not quite swallowing, keeping the suction steady  and simple, easing Eliot deeper.

“Only a couple inches. They’ll be manly,  promise. I’d never compromise  your innate  dudeness , Q.”  Eliot laughed breathlessly and  writhed a little ,  digging his toes  into the silk sheets. “That’s so  good, gorgeous.  So good. Quentin, my god .”  A tremor ran through Eliot’s  long body, and he arched  upward helplessly .  “If you want to do anything else with my cock, I  suggest you let me know now, because  I am  _ not _  pacing myself.”

Quentin stopped sucking him to  pull his cock  so they could talk . “Oh, I’m more worried about my coordination on heels than my  dudeness .  It would really kill my  professorly  mystique to  bite it in front of a room full of people.”

He gazed at Eliot’s body, smiling softly . “I want to do everything , El. I…  You  want to scandalize your parents?”

“God yes.”  Eliot grinned and  reached  down to Quentin’s mouth,  toying with his  reddened lips. He dipped a fingertip into Q’s mouth, groaning softly  when Quentin caught it and  suckled it.  His cock throbbed in Quentin’s hand,  telling tales on how aroused Eliot was  already. 

“We should have very loud, very dirty sex.  You could call  me  Daddy  and I could fuck you so hard the headboard wakes them up.  If he was worried about you taking my name, he’ll go crazy  hearing you take my cock. ” Quentin  waggled his brows , still teasing  Eliot , but now touching  himself  as well.

Eliot raised a scandalized brow and  grinned wide.  “Quentin Coldwater, you dirty boy. How long have  you been  saving that up?” 

Pulling away from Quentin’s  hand, Eliot  rose onto his  knees and  tackled Quentin onto  the bed with his head by  the footboard  and  sprawled out across him , greedily rubbing against him and kissing him urgently.  It was more than just Quentin saying  something mildly naughty;  it was Quentin feeling bold —feeling  _ safe— _ and  trusting Eliot with it already.  It had taken forever in the Mosaic timeline to convince Q to speak up, and this was off to a  _ much _  better start.

When he was out of breath, Eliot lifted his head to look  into Quentin’s dazed eyes and  sighed in  sheer bliss.  “Quentin, you can have anything you want. I’m yours.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Quentin  wrapped his legs around  Eliot  and it just felt so…  _ right. _ It also made Eliot wonder just how much Quentin remembered. How much he’d tried to remember. If  those memories were  what Quentin thought about when he jerked off.  “ Was there something else you had in mind?”

Eliot shook his head , feeling weirdly shy ,  then  spat on his hand  and  reached for Quentin’s cock  between their bodies ,  jerking him  roughly.  Loud enough to be heard through the  thin walls even over  the bass-heavy music playing, Eliot  growled, “ I need your cock, Daddy. You  gonna  give it to me? You  gonna  fuck me hard,  Daddy ?  Been waiting for you so long . Promise I’ll be so good for you.”

Then, quieter, he said  wryly , “Q, I have literally all the daddy issues.  You’re in for it now.”

“You do? I always thought you were the daddy . ” Quentin squirmed against the bed , s peaking low  before he slapped Eliot’s ass hard. Loudly, he said, “Yeah , baby boy.  Going to fuck you so hard . Get up . Put your head down, ass up, I want to see you open for me, baby boy .  Get yourself ready for Daddy.”

With a low flare of delight  curling in his belly, Eliot  crooned, “ Ooh, Daddy, you’re so aggressive.”

It might be a ridiculous game in some ways —Eliot probably was  more of the daddy  in  stereotypical terms—but  with his own  father in the next room...  There was nothing Eliot wanted more than to replace  the idea of  Daddy with a man who honestly  loved him, someone who would treat him right  and make him feel good about himself. 

Eliot turned around, smacking his own ass noisily just to put  on a show for Q, and then  faceplanted into the  stack of silk-covered pillows .  He brought his knees up under him, spread wide, and  displayed his ass  for  Daddy.  It shouldn’t be doing it for  him, it really shouldn’t, and Quentin  was younger than him  and smaller than him and a precious little bean who must be protected at all costs, but he was also so fucking brave and strong and...

Turning his head to the side, Eliot looked back at Quentin and murmured, “ I’m feeling very much as if I  might swoon over you, Daddy.”

Then, slow and deliberate, Eliot worked the  tuts for the  self- lubrication spell  and sank two long, ringed fingers into his own hole without a second thought. He licked his lips as he took in the expression  on Quentin’s  sweet, handsome face .

“You are so fucking hot. ”  Quentin had said it loudly, more than he might’ve intended  because he covered his mouth  briefly . But as far as spontaneous outbursts went, it was  a really good one . “ You been bad, baby boy? You need a spanking from Daddy? I heard you were very rude to guests tonight. Think maybe I should...”

Quentin licked his fingers  and then  spanked Eliot  again . Something  passed over his face, a spark of  excitement over something he maybe hadn’t expected to really turn him on.  He bit his bottom lip, wrinkled his nose ,  and did it again. The hit was hard and sharp . Quentin palmed the spot, smoothing it gently with his fingers . 

He looked up at Eliot with his brows up  and a huge grin on his face  as if he’d just discovered a new toy .  It was so cute Eliot thought  he might die. 

“I don’t know how you can be so cute and so  sexy at the same time.  It is literally blowing my mind.  I can’t handle it.” Eliot widened his stance  obligingly  though and  flexed his cheeks, making his ass bounce for  Quentin’s benefit  even as he  played  with himself. “You  gonna  spank me harder, Daddy?  Because I’ve got a filthy, disrespectful mouth and  I can’t control my temper?  Because I’m a mean, petty, jealous  boy who needs a  firm hand?”

It was a game, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true,  too.  Eliot no doubt deserved many  spankings for the shit he pulled on the  daily.

“Yes I am .  Because you need to learn some discipline .” Quentin positioned himse lf on his knees next to  Eliot. He placed his left hand on the small of  Eliot’s  back and then  swung , bringing his palm down hard, fingers spread . 

It was loud. Louder than it  felt  probably, but the sting felt good too. Better when Quentin leaned down and  swirled his tongue over the  stunned skin.  While he was there, Quentin  batted Eliot’s hand away so he could finger him  briefly .  Q  moaned softly, even just at his fingers inside of Eliot . 

After teasing him for a minute, Quentin sat back up and gave him several decisive spanks , each one coming down firmly and loudly . “You know Daddy loves you, right? Daddy does this for your own good.”

Eliot nodded and  hid his  face in the pillow,  weirdly moved by this game , by the idea of  giving Quentin that power, that  authority .  He inhaled deeply and  arched his back  under Quentin’s hand, loving  the comforting, solid weight of it there,  loving how open and  ready and slick he felt inside , his body in a  perfect state of  vulnerability and hunger. 

Then he turned his head again to look at Quentin,  halfway hiding under one  arm . “I love you too, Daddy . Your Eliot loves you.  You take good care  of me.”

And with anyone else, any other boyfriend,  that might be kind of true.  With  anyone else, it might be a sexy thing to say .  But this was Quentin, who had  rubbed ointment into Eliot’s  swollen knuckles when he got old in  another life .  Quentin who had  helped him shave when his hands had grown too unsteady, who’d  fussed over him  when he  had the flu .  With Quentin, it was  profoundly true, so true that it  sank into Eliot’s marrow and  took root there,  overwhelming him with the  sense this was meant to be.

“This is true love,” Eliot whispered, dazed and disbelieving, confronted with something so much bigger than himself, bigger than either of them.

Quentin  leaned over and kissed Eliot’s back , all the way up to his nape , where he nuzzled  behind his ear. “Fucking well is. I love you, El .  Peaches and plums.”

He kissed Eliot lovingly  and nuzzled his face again . “Couldn’t even stop loving you when I wanted to .” Then, as  if he could read Eliot’s mind, he  said, “ It’s bigger than me . ”

Sliding his hand down Eliot’s back ,  Q stroked  the cleft and then slid his fingers inside  Eliot , teasing that spot deep inside . “And now I’m going to fuck you so hard that fucking faker next door will never come back, no matter how fucking cheap he is.”

Eliot groaned his relief and joy and ...  The feelings swelled inside him, flowing over him, and he couldn’t name them or articulate them.  He pushed back onto Quentin’s fingers, lost in the sensations and emotions he had no context for, no understanding of. It was just  _ good _ . Just good and pure  and wholesome,  just things Eliot didn’t know he was  capable of, and  Quentin was unlocking it all as if  from some  sealed-shut  chamber in the core of him. 

Now it spilled out everywhere, messy and  wild and  new. 

“Daddy,” Eliot gasped, and it felt rebellious just to reclaim that idea, to assign it to Quentin, to  strip Aaron Waugh of  it completely and render him  nobody at all. 

“Yes, good boy, Eliot. Just like that.” 

Eliot was more than ready for Quentin ,  and it seemed that Quentin was done with playing around . He  moved behind Eliot, squaring himself up against him.  Then he  leaned over his back to rifle through the nightstand for a condom  and quickly slid it on. 

Of course Quentin would  want to be safe.  Of course Eliot wouldn’t even have  to ask.  He was always like this , so thoughtful and polite and  careful and...

Eliot  sighed and  swayed his back, pressing  back against Quentin  entreatingly  and stretching his arms in  front of him to grasp hold  of the headboard.  Then, quietly, he  said, “You  don’t  need that,  Daddy. Not unless you want it.  I trust you.”

Latex hadn’t even been  invented in  Fillory .

Quentin leaned in to whisper in Eliot’s ear.  “I just want to be sure , El.  Daddy’s  gotta  keep you safe.  We’ll have the rest of our lives to not . I don’t want to  take any chances  until I know for sure . ”

There hadn’t been a lot of choice in  Fillory ,  and things had happened so  suddenly, and everyone had been, well, out of their lives and in another time. Literally.

That protective streak was hard wired in Quentin .  It was strangely sweet , as only Q could be.

He lined up behind Eliot .  pressed the head of his cock against Eliot’s opening ,  and  leaned forward. “Get ready , Daddy’s coming.”

_ Certainly not already. _

And clearly not ,  because Quentin slammed into him , his hands on Eliot’s  hips .  The jolt of it ran through  Eliot’s body, up his arms , and into the headboard, which  thumped  against the wall  in time with Eliot’s  exultant groan.  He flexed around the invasion and rolled his hips backward,  wordlessly  begging for more.  It felt like forever since he’d  had Quentin inside him, since  he’d had anything that meant this much, that  felt this good. 

“That’s so good, Daddy,” Eliot  said, voice pitched  loud enough to  carry ,  rebellious and  dangerously satisfied.  “You  gonna  fuck me  hard?  I need it, Daddy . Need you to fuck me , use me,  take me  apart with  your cock  and make me  come  for you.”

From the other room  came sounds of a door slamming  and feet in the hallway. 

“Going to fuck you so hard.” Quentin moved closer , bringing Eliot up so his head wasn’t totally on the pillow . He spread Eliot’s arms out over the  headboard , then  pinned Eliot’s wrists . It  gave him better leverage to thrust harder but also  to  slam the headboard nois ily against the wall.

He started slow, keeping Eliot’s arms pinned, pulled all the way out, and then slammed in. The hard thrusts drove loud moans from Eliot as Quentin shifted his hips, driving him crazy with how Q filled him.

“Not going to let you touch yourself. You have to come just from me fucking you, Eliot. Can you do that? Can you come when Daddy tells you to?”  Without waiting for an answer, Quentin slammed into him again, building a rhythm that  was  everything  Eliot needed . “Yeah, just like that, El. So fucking good. You  make  Daddy  so  happy .  Gonna  take such good care of you.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Eliot groaned, feeling it in his core. “Whatever you want, Daddy.” 

And he meant it. He’d denied Quentin enough for a lifetime. Whatever Quentin wanted, Eliot would give him freely, gladly. He couldn’t believe he had this again, that it was his, that somehow, despite all his faults, he had a man like Quentin touching him this way.

The bedframe thumped against the wall steadily as Quentin pounded into Eliot, and it had never been like this between them before, not in fifty years at the Mosaic, and Eliot didn’t know what had gotten into Quentin, but he  _ liked _  it. He’d never imagined that his sweet, awkward Q had these kind of hidden depths, but he should’ve fucking known better, as intense as Q was, as deep as he went.  And he went  _ deep _ . Every  thrust  rubbed Eliot  just right, and he  was so ready for it, so  greedy, that  he wanted it to  last forever even as he knew he  couldn’t hold out much longer.

From the hallway, someone hammered at the door, and Eliot laughed, a little breathless with Q filling him like that, and called out, “Find some earplugs. We’re celebrating our engagement.”

Aaron cursed vehemently, Claudia said something too softly for Eliot to make out, and then his footsteps retreated and the other bedroom’s door slammed. 

“Be careful with the goddamn doors, son!” Quentin shouted .  His body  rammed  hard  into Eliot’s ,  carving him out ,  and though it had seemed like Q couldn’t possibly have had more to give,  he took  Eliot harder , as if punctuating his point . 

“Let Daddy hear it, El.  Let me hear how good it is ,  and then I’ll let you come.” Quentin  was dripping with sweat , face red from exertion , veins standing out probably from holding back.  When he noticed Eliot was looking back at him, Quentin met his gaze and ,  though it was fi erce,  when he smiled it was with so much love  and joy .

Eliot didn’t even have to try  to be  noisy.  He just quit holding  back, and it burst  from him in long, ardent  moans  and  sharp  sighs and gasps as  Quentin fucked the  breath out of him.  He gloried in it,  happy after  so long spent  lonely .  “ Feels so  fucking good, Daddy.  You feel so good  inside me.  Needed this.  Needed you .”

Rocking back to meet Quentin’s thrusts, Eliot  groaned again,  his cock achingly hard, his  balls drawn up, and  clutched the headboard  blindly.  “Love you, love you,  love you,” Eliot chanted,  wanting Quentin to  know, wanting him to  _ understand.  _ He couldn’t be coy anymore, couldn’t hint at it  and hope it would be enough. 

It was past time for  that  chickenshit  playboy  stuff.  It had served Eliot well enough when  he was twenty, but he was older now,  older  than his years, and  Quentin was the only one who’d ever  get it, who could  ever match  Eliot now.

“Good boy . Good , good, good .”  Quentin punctuated each thrust with praise , moving faster . Their  bodies clapped together . The  giant bed creaked and strained . He let loose with his own moans and grunts , pumping furiously, building to  an exquisite release. “Come for me, El. Come with me.  Love you, love you so much.”

Breathing hard ,  Eliot  strained closer,  tightening his grip on  the  headboard.  “Q . Oh god,  Q. Q, Q, Q .” 

Writhing under Quentin , feeling his  strength, the solid pressure of his  body, the thick , hard invasion of  his cock, Eliot  all but  whined.  He fucked himself on Quentin’s cock  relentlessly ,  clenching around him  with a choked whimper  as  his body  balanced precariously on the  precipice of climax. 

“Fuck me, Daddy.  Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me .” Eliot  was  doing most of the work now,  thrusting back  and  grinding on Quentin,  stretching and straining and  breathing raggedly.  Then the pleasure  blossomed through him, a  slow flush  spreading across his skin chased by a  sudden spike of  ecstasy that  clenched in his  core and  made  him cry out as he  came  in  exultant pulses. 

Quentin followed ,  his  moan  loud  as he milked himself  in Eliot , groaning  until he flopped on Eliot’s back ,  apparently  exhausted.  After a long moment, he  brough t  his hips back to slide from Eliot and did away with the condom  in the basket next to the bed.

Then Q  rolled off  Eliot  onto the bed ,  pulled Eliot down on top of him ,  and gazed  up at him . “Think that scandalized them  plenty.  I needed that . Dreamed of it.  Dreamed of you . ”

“Yeah?” Eliot smiled slyly and kissed Quentin slow and sweet before lifting his head to look down into those dark, dreamy eyes. “You’re a remarkably sexy Daddy, Quentin. I really wasn’t expecting  that.” Grinning wider,  he  added , “You  _ spanked _  me, Q .”

Quentin laughed and nodded. “I did. And you  _ liked _  it. ”

Biting his lip, Quentin  cupped Eliot’s face . “I didn’t expect it, either.  But I think I’ve proven before that I’m a pretty good dad. My first spankings, though.  Glad you approved. You still want me to move in?”

Eliot leaned in for another kiss and nodded.  “I hope you have more  unexpectedly playful  facets we have yet to explore, because  I am one hundred and ten  percent willing to get freaky  with you, Coldwater.”

Then he pulled away and  spelled them clean,  since Eliot had  come really hard, and it had  gone  _ everywhere _ .  Black sheets were useful  for identifying such situations,  though, and when the mess was  banished, Eliot flopped down  next to Q and stretched out  comfortably.  Then, gazing over at Quentin, Eliot  smiled.  “Next time you’ll have to put  me over your knee.”

“Yeah? Maybe next time I’ll need to have a paddle. ” Quentin all but sparkled  with mischief .  Eliot  couldn’t doubt there were  many  more  playful facets to Quentin.  One would think that after fifty plus years they’d really know someone. 

Yet, wasn’t it Eliot who had said that  they hadn’t really been them  at the Mosaic ? It was true in some ways ,  and in many ways it wasn’t.

As if Quentin read Eliot’s mind , Quentin said, “I said we should give it a shot here. I didn’t say I wanted to do the same thing  over again.  I just want to do whatever life brings me  with you.”

That brought Eliot up  short.  He’d never really considered that . 

“I’m an idiot.” He sighed, picked up a pillow, and hid his face in it as  he screamed at his own  kneejerk stupidity .  Then, after a moment, he set the pillow  aside, this time on Quentin’s  stomach, and rolled over to lay his head atop it and gaze at Q. “I was so caught up in...  I just... It didn’t even occur to me that we’d get a  whole new adventure the second time  around.  It didn’t occur to me that maybe this time I wouldn’t need to share you, and we’d be mature enough to sort our  shit out without Arielle  playing go-between and...” 

Inching closer, Eliot  rested his chin on  his hands  and cuddled up on top of  Quentin,  stopping just shy of Q’s face.  “I don’t know why you put up with me  honestly. Is it for my ass? I have a  great ass.”

Then another thought occurred to him, and he  brightened, eyes going wide.  “Oh my god, Quentin ... You’re going to be  Professor Coldwater.  I am going to get spankings from Professor Coldwater.  This is—Like honestly, this is a  good forty percent of my  adolescent fantasies coming true .”

Quentin looked like he was about to confess something sincere ,  but then at Eliot’s  confession, Quentin  laughed, his head thrown back as he  did when he was  sincerely amused .  “Please tell me there was a hot teacher in your past and you didn’t have secret longings for  Mayakovsky , because been down  _ that _  road .”

Eliot laughed and then  leaned in for a  soft kiss.  “Tell me what you were going to say  before I got goofy, Q.  Everything’s so much better when we’re just real with each  other, isn’t it?”

At least , in theory.

“Oh. I was just going to say that you make me happy. So does your ass, but  you know,  there’s more  to it  than that . And I do want to be a dad, so this works.” Quentin laughed at Eliot’s  expression and  shook his head. “I’m joking, El.  I want to see where this takes us.  Besides, with global warming…  seems like a bad idea. ”

“Ray of fucking  sunshine  there ,” Eliot  replied, raising a brow and  then flopping back onto  his side of the bed.  “But this is... This is good.  This is a good place to start .”

He commanded Siri to play  his sleep sounds playlist  and then  rolled over to  cuddle  Quentin,  nuzzling in and  whispering, “ I’ve never slept  as well in my life as I did at  that fucking  Mosaic  cottage sharing that bed with you.”

“ No? Well, I’m here to protect you and your dreams. ”  Quentin slid his hands over Eliot possessively ,  and in some ways it  was unnerving ,  but in others it was extremely comforting. “I think you’re right about that, though.  Something about a long day of physical labor, some good food, conversation, sex and then snuggles. It was… it was good.  But now we have all of New York City to play with and no obligation.  The whole world is open for us.  And who knows, maybe I’ll find some students as troublesome as we  were,  and we can have some magical adventures.”

Quentin paused as he settled in with Eliot. “You want to know something stupid? I still want to have a boat adventure with you.”

Eliot startled at that and  looked into Quentin’s  eyes. “Really ?” He couldn’t  help the small,  touched smile that spread across his face.  “You still want to go on a boat with me?  I was so...”  He sighed. “I don’t know a word for what I was.  I was  _ wrong _ , Quentin.  But if you want to go on a boat  adventure, I will...  find a Groupon or something.”

Laughing, Eliot  snuggled into Quentin , feeling well-fucked and contented.  “I want to do  _ everything _  with  you.”

The Bluetooth speakers played  soothing  forest night  sounds with a babbling  brook,  a lot like  things had been at the  Mosaic cottage.  It was all Eliot had been able to do  to fall asleep  since Margo moved in with Josh. Now Quentin’s scent wrapped around him, and Quentin’s  skin was against his, and it was  peaceful and perfect. Complete.

“I don’t care about that now, El. I just want to enjoy things with you.  It’s just a bump in the road compared to fifty years.”  Quentin stroked his hair tenderly, soothing him to sleep . He had just about drifted off when Quentin whispered, “I love yo u ,” and kissed his forehead .  Though Eliot was too sleepy to  respond, he knew  down to his marrow that what Quentin said was true.

In the morning, Eliot  woke  much too  early to the sound of pounding on his bedroom door.  He snagged his dressing gown from its  hook and  hobbled to the door, feeling  Quentin’s cock like it was still  there. It was a nice feeling, but  not terribly conducive to  swift movement. 

“Hello .”  Eliot opened the door a crack and peered  out at his mother, who was  looking  simultaneously annoyed and  apologetic in that special  motherly way. 

“I just wanted to let you  know we’re leaving, Eliot,  and we won’t be bothering you  anymore. We’ll fly back  home this evening.”

Eliot folded his arms over his chest and looked  toward the bed , the clock,  and Quentin. “It’s five- thirty,  Claudia. You didn’t have to leave this  early.”

“Oh, well, there’s  traffic, and your  father’s antsy to get going. We  gotta  get to the studio  early, you know, and the show  films live .” Looking past  Eliot , Claudia waved at Quentin.  Dropping her voice to a  whisper, she said,  “It was good to meet you,  Quentin. I hope you two will be very happy.”

From the other side  of the apartment,  Aaron called, “Claud, we’re  gonna  be late ! Move your  happy ass.”

Quentin got up, wrapping the sheet around him to greet her. He actually looked a little sorry , but also slightly smug. “It was good to meet you, too.  Enjoy the show today. Know I’m going to take care of your precious baby  the best I can, okay?”

He reached out to shak e  her hand  through  the  crack the door was open .  Claudia took his hand and shook  it briefly, her expression  pinched.  Eliot couldn’t quite read it, but he thought maybe she  looked grateful and sad.  Then again, he hadn’t seen her in  years , so he could be seeing  what he wanted to see. 

Then, when Claudia withdrew her hand, Eliot  cleared his throat.  “We’ll see you out and  lock up behind you.” 

Claudia nodded even as Aaron yelled again from  the other room.  Something in her seemed to snap, and she shouted back, “ Wait in the damned hall,  Aaron.  I’m saying goodbye to our son.”

“Not  _ my _  son,”  Aaron hollered, and  the door banged as he  closed it. 

Brow furrowed and eyes wet, Claudia  looked up into  Eliot’s face,  jaw  setting in a determined line. “You’re still _ my _ son.  My little boy . And I want you happy .”

That punched Eliot in the gut  emotionally, and he  stifled a soft, surprised noise before opening the door the rest of the way  to hug his mom.  She hugged him back , holding herself awkwardly  like she didn’t entirely know how to  love him, and he  drew away after a  beat. 

“Let’s get you out there before  Aaron throws a tantrum ,” Eliot said  drily, trying to cover his emotions.

Claudia nodded and dabbed at her eyes as she turned and walked down  the hallway to the door  with Eliot following  her. Quentin followed  too ,  his hand on Eliot’s back more as support than anything else.  She turned back to them ,  and Quentin gazed at her and took her hands before  she  opened the door. 

“I will do my best to make sure he’s happy, Claudia.  You’re leaving him in a good place, I promise. Take care of yourself. ” That said he returned his affection to Eliot , squeezing him sideways .  “Eliot’s a precious gift and a good man.  And honorable. Don’t ever doubt his goodness .  He’ll be all right with me.”

Claudia jerked her  head in a swift nod and then  turned her back  resolutely and headed out the door , not saying another word.  Deep down, Eliot wished she  would , but he knew better than to hope.  Instead, he leaned into Quentin’s  pressure against his side. 

In the hallway, Aaron was waiting for Claudia, their bags in his hands.  He grimaced at the sight of Eliot and Quentin half-dressed  standing in the doorway ,  and Eliot  couldn’t resist blowing him a kiss.  Aaron snarled and stomped off . Claudia rushed to keep up .  She didn’t look back.

Eliot tried not to care that she  didn’t.

When they stepped into the elevator,  he shut the door  and locked it before  turning his focus on Quentin.  “So.  That’s the  Waughs .” He forced a  smile and motioned toward the  kitchen. “ Let me make you breakfast.”

At that, the hard  knot in his chest  relaxed, and the smile came on its own.  Last night replayed at superspeed  across his memories, and he  splayed his hand at the side  of Quentin’s neck, leaning in to  claim a soft  kiss.

Quentin kissed him back, dropping the sheet  to stand naked in the entryway . He squeezed Eliot tight, almost too tight briefly ,  and then released him. “I’m sorry. I haven’t spoken to my mom since…  Y ou know, sometimes it’s for the best. We can find our own family. You’re so loved, El. Don’t doubt that.”

He grabbed Eliot’s chin, holding it up slightly. “And you’re a king. Don’t forget that, either.  What the peasants think is immaterial.  Now get your daddy some breakfast before he has to turn you over his knee.”

At the last part, Quentin was grinning as if he could barely hold it together saying that, though no doubt Q would throw Eliot over his knee with great glee. And maybe later, Eliot would let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This did not go at all the way I (prettyclever) expected, but Q had his own ideas. Also, he's a really good boyfriend. ;_; I'm just so happy for them.
> 
> Anyway, now it's time to resume Sound & Color! Then onward to our MHHE fic! We're going to be so busy. There's going to be _so_ much Queliot coming your way.


End file.
